


Intertwined

by Gravity_star



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence - Captain America: The First Avenger, Eventual Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, M/M, Mental Health Issues, No Smut, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:54:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26455222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gravity_star/pseuds/Gravity_star
Summary: After falling from a freight train in 1945, Steve and Bucky are both taken captive by HYDRA. Alone and imprisoned, Bucky is left to wonder what HYDRA could have possibly done with his friend.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 20
Kudos: 35





	1. Fall

_ March 7, 1945 _

_ “Steve Rogers and James Barnes were reported Missing in Action after attempting to capture HYDRA affiliate Arnim Zola. The rest of their squadron, the Howling Commandos, managed to make it back to camp safely. Thanks to the intel gathered from the squadron, Zola was apprehended shortly after the events in Europe. HYDRA is currently being dismantled, with many of its agents currently under trial for various war crimes. None of this would have been possible without the work of Captain America and Sergeant Barnes. We gather here today to honor their lives, through the war and before. May America never forget their sacrifices…” _

* * *

A blast. A flash of light. A hot, searing pain, followed by bitter cold. And suddenly, Bucky had been knocked out of the train, forced to hold onto the railing with all he had left.

“Bucky!” Steve yelled, reaching out his arm. “Grab my hand!”

Bucky reached out as far as physically possible, fear and adrenaline blinding him. His surroundings faded away and suddenly he only had one objective: Survive. His grip on the railing tensed as a screw came loose. Steve noticed, shuffling across the torn exterior of the train to pull himself closer to his friend.

Suddenly, another screw was torn out of the rail. Bucky felt his body tense as he lost his grip. But before he began to plummet, he felt another hand around his own.

“I got you, Buck,” Steve began to pull Bucky up, and for a short moment, he let himself breathe.

The machine inside the train was back up again, guns loaded. Without any warning, it shot at Steve.

Suddenly, they were falling.

Bucky only had a moment to notice Steve’s terrified, frozen eyes before everything went black.

They were going to die.

\-----

The first thing he noticed was the cold. Surrounding him, freezing his blood, numbing him completely. It howled in his ears, taunting him, telling him to let go and disappear.

He wasn’t going to let go.

The second thing he noticed was the pain. It started slowly, a dull throbbing sensation around his left shoulder, but quickly began to consume him. It burned, seared, against the icy, sharp air. Suddenly, it shot, white-hot, from his shoulder to the rest of his body. It cut into his skull as his head throbbed endlessly, ears ringing loudly. It traveled to his broken back, his heaving lungs, his useless legs. His body had been torn apart, and there was nothing he could do to help himself.

Through the cold, the wind whipping at his ears, his heart beating out of his chest, he heard something distinct. 

A voice.

Someone was trudging toward him, yelling his name. He wanted to get up, to run away, to do anything but sit here, helpless. 

He felt the ground next to him shift as the voice became clearer. 

“Oh my God, Bucky. Please, please, please don’t be dead.” He was finally able to register the voice through the delirium of his pain - Steve. Relief flooded his body as he realized he wasn’t alone. He wanted to tell Steve he was okay, to throw his arms around him and never let go. But his body was paralyzed, and no matter how badly he wanted to pick himself back up, he truly didn’t have the strength.

An arm wrapped around his back, pulling him away from the cold, and he let out a small cry of pain as he was lifted into a sitting position. He opened his swollen eyes slightly and attempted, in vain, to focus. His vision was blurring dangerously, but he managed to make out Steve’s figure against the harsh, grating whiteness surrounding them. The wind whipped in his eyes again and he shut them tightly as a chill ran through his body. Steve began to speak again.

“I’m so glad you’re alive, I couldn’t find you and I thought….I thought maybe you’d fallen into the river, but I couldn’t see you anywhere,” He paused for a moment, breath hitching as he pulled Bucky closer to himself. “I was trekking through the snow for….I don’t know. It felt like hours. And God, I thought I’d lost you. But then I saw something over a few yards away, and I got closer, and I realized it was you and -” 

He stopped speaking again, wrapping his arms around Bucky tightly. Bucky winced, and Steve pulled away slightly, grip still firm around his friend.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to, I just - when I saw you, Buck, I thought you were….I thought you were dead. You were freezing, you….you weren’t moving, weren’t talking, and your arm….” Bucky leaned away from Steve and gazed at him, eyes confused and unfocused.

“My….my arm?” He looked down to the left, casting his gaze to his throbbing shoulder, and inhaled sharply as he stared at what was left of his aching arm. “How….how the hell….” 

Suddenly, a sharp wave of pain shot through his body. He tried to block it out, tried to think about anything but his helpless situation, but it was useless. His vision began to grow dark, his body quickly giving up on him. He couldn’t fight it anymore. The cool darkness surrounding him suddenly seemed welcoming, and he let himself fall into its icy grasp as the world faded away into a soft shadow.

\-----

_ He breathed in and out. The same rhythm, the same beat.  _

_ In. _

_ Don’t die. _

_ Out. _

_ Please. _

_ In.  _

_ Stay steady. _

_ Out. _

_ Don’t let go. _

_ He’d been left alone for hours. Days, maybe. HYDRA had taken him and left him for dead. He was trapped. He struggled, fruitlessly, against his restraints. It was no more successful than any of his previous attempts, of course. But for some strange reason, he still held a shred of hope. Hope was the only reason he’d stayed alive for this long. He could’ve given up a long time ago. Could’ve made the pain and suffering stop. But he didn’t.  _

_ He wouldn’t do it. _

_ Couldn’t let himself. _

_ Couldn’t let go. _

_ In the distance, footsteps echoed against the metal floor. _

_ Someone was calling a name. _

_ His name. _

\-----

Bucky started awake at the distinct sound of gunfire. Shouts echoed through the canyon, muffled by the howling wind. 

Suddenly, his eyes shot open as he heard the sound of metal on metal followed by a distinct scream. A man was thrown on the ground next to him as a chorus of gunfire seemingly erupted out of nowhere. As he scanned the area around himself, he could make out half a dozen black-clad bodies against the blinding white. 

His blood ran cold. Steve was in the middle of the fight, shield soaring through the air as he dodged bullet after bullet. Bucky needed to get up, to help fight. But he couldn’t. In a last-ditch attempt to draw the focus away from Steve, he pulled his handgun out of its holster and shot at one of the figures. The man collapsed almost immediately, and Bucky relaxed for a second before realizing what he had done.

All eyes turned in his direction. One of the figures ran at him and he scrambled backed against the rocky, cool wall of the ravine. He threw his right hand up in front of his face as the man launched himself forward. He braced for impact, squeezing his eyes shut and curling against the rock helplessly. 

The punch never came. At the last second, Steve hurled himself at the other man, throwing him to the ground and pummelling him until he went limp. He then ran at the four remaining men, all of whom were advancing quickly. One second, Steve was being pinned down by three of the men. The next, two of them collapsed on the ground and he was making quick work of the other two. Bucky stared, stunned. 

After pinning the final man to the ground with his shield, Steve stood still for a moment, seemingly unsure of what had just occurred. He was breathing heavily, but appeared almost unscathed. He bent down to pick up his shield, placing it on his back hesitantly as he stepped over to Bucky.

“Are you okay, Buck?” Steve looked him over, face creased with concern. Bucky didn’t respond initially, still trying to make sense of the situation. His left shoulder throbbed violently, his vision swimming slightly with the pain. 

“I don’t….well, I’m still alive….” He paused, turning his gaze to Steve. “What was that? Who were those guys? What….what did they want with us?” 

Steve sighed, kneeling down in the snow to inspect Bucky’s shoulder. He ignored Bucky’s question momentarily, seemingly focused on how to possibly help with the wound. After a moment, his shoulders sank as he stared at the ground. 

“It was HYDRA. I don’t know how they knew we were here, but they did. They….they tried to take you.” His hands clenched into fists. “Something about an experiment. I couldn’t catch much of what they were saying, but….” 

Both of them sat bolt upright as a bullet whizzed through the air, barely missing Steve’s head. He leapt to his feet and held his shield in front of the both of them hesitantly, but no fire followed. The only sound was the wind echoing against the walls of the canyon, the landscape deathly still. 

Another shot rang through the air and left a sizable dent in Steve’s shield. He tensed, staring around the entirety of the canyon to attempt to spot the location of the shooter. Suddenly, they saw it. A man running at both of them, gun on his back, knives in his hands. Steve rammed his shield into the man, which knocked him down temporarily. 

Steve stared at the motionless body as Bucky scanned the perimeter in an attempt to locate any other soldiers. Out of the corner of his eye, a body shifted slightly. 

“Steve!” He shouted, a moment too late. One of the HYDRA agents, who they had presumed was dead, lifted his arm and shot Steve in the abdomen. He crumpled to the ground, allowing the previously unconscious sniper to gain the upper hand. The HYDRA agent and sniper worked together, movements fluid as they gathered their bearings and began to close in on Steve. 

Bucky aimed to shoot at the sniper, hand shaking slightly. Unfortunately, he caught the gaze of the sniper and was unable to make his move. Steve shifted slightly, trying to push himself out of the snow, but the agent quickly kicked him down and shoved the barrel of his gun into Steve’s head. He stared at Bucky, eyes void of emotion.

“You move, I shoot him.” Seemingly out of options, Bucky slowly lowered the gun. He tried to work a way out of the situation, compute a solution that would somehow put an end to this nightmare.

They were out of options.

Suddenly, in a blur of motion, the sniper flung himself at Bucky and pinned him to the ground. His head spun, his body and mind both spent. In the distance, Steve yelled something indecipherable before promptly being silenced. 

Pain like a burning knife drove into his back and his body went limp. The world wavered, the cool snow beneath him melting into inky blackness as reality crumbled away before his eyes. 

* * *

He was dragged out of the light and into an eerie, empty darkness. As his captors snaked through hallways and dungeons, he shifted in and out of consciousness. He tried to scream, but the sound was barely more than a hoarse whisper. 

Eventually, the motion stopped. The agents let him go, let him fall onto the cold, hard floor of a small cell. More hands grabbed him, shoved him onto a bench and held him back against the wall. He didn’t bother to struggle. His energy was gone, the life inside him fully drained.

A needle sunk into his skin. His ears began to ring, his vision blurred and he was barely able to feel his body go limp before blacking out. 

\-----

_ Bucky knocked lightly on the door to Steve’s apartment. He waited outside, expecting the door to swing open any second. After a few moments, nothing happened. He knocked a second time, slightly more worried than before. Still nothing. Hesitantly, he tried the handle. Much to his surprise, it was unlocked.  _

_ He pushed it open the rest of the way slowly, cringing as it creaked against its hinges. Still, no response from Steve. Bucky knew he was here. He was always here. He wasn’t working - at least, not for the time being. He didn’t have anywhere else to be. Bucky had told him he was coming…. _

_ Bucky let himself inside, closing the door behind him. The apartment was tiny - a small kitchen, a table and two chairs, and a bedroom off to the side. He walked over to the bedroom, knocking again. He realized how absurd he must look, but something about this situation seemed off. Steve didn’t just disappear like this. After a moment, a hoarse voice replied to the knock. _

_ “Who….who’s there?” His voice was groggy, interspersed with coughing. _

_ Bucky didn’t bother replying, deciding to let himself in instead. In one quick motion, he pulled the door open and strode into the small, dimly lit room. There, huddled in the corner of the bed wrapped in a blanket, was Steve. Bucky walked up to him and sat on the side of the bed, face creased with worry.  _

_ “Steve….are you okay?”  _

_ Steve let out a defiant sigh. “I’m alright, Buck. Just a little under the weather.” He turned away, coughing into his arm and shivering slightly. After a beat of silence, he continued. “You know, I can handle myself just fine.”  _

_ “I know, but….you don’t have to.” _

\-----

Bucky shot awake, heart pounding. He had to find Steve. He had to get them out of here. 

How could he even be certain that Steve was here? What if HYDRA was keeping him somewhere else? What if they had killed….

No. Bucky wouldn’t let himself think that. There was no way the doctors would pass up the opportunity to murder someone as valuable as his friend. He was exactly what HYDRA was looking for.

Bucky’s blood boiled. 

_ Exactly what HYDRA was looking for. A perfect specimen. _

What the hell would they do with him once they realized what he was?

\-----

The room they held Bucky in was dull, a blank ceiling against metal walls and thick, bulletproof windows. Between his exhaustion and whatever sedatives they kept injecting into him, he was hardly awake to notice the constant commotion in the tiny area. Every minute, every hour, every day blurred into the next, a seemingly endless cycle of pain and confusion. 

One day, he woke up to the sound of several pairs of shoes clicking against the metal floor. He tried to shift his position slightly to see what was going on, but as soon as he moved himself over, a man in a lab coat rushed into the room, shoving him harshly against the cool metal chair. He called another man over, dressed identically to the first. 

The two spoke in rapid-fire Russian, Bucky completely unable to pick up any of what they were saying. As they continued their conversation, a few men armed with guns stepped into the room. Bucky stayed completely still, unsure of what was going on. After a couple of minutes, one of the men in the lab coats rushed off and returned almost instantly with a vial of clear liquid. Bucky’s skin crawled. Whatever they were doing next wasn’t going to feel good. 

Two of the armed men warily stepped next to Bucky, pointing their guns in his direction as a sign of warning. As they did this, one of the doctors held him down forcefully as the other injected the liquid into his arm. Immediately, a wave of pain shot up his body. He yelled in shock, but the pain left him as soon as it came. The next thing he knew, all of his muscles gave out and he slipped away into dreamless unconsciousness.

\-----

He came to slowly, the world around him bright and blurred. He caught sight of the glint of freshly polished metal out of the corner of his eye, and as he focused on it, he froze. It was an arm. Not his arm. They had done this. He hadn’t asked for this. He clenched his metal fingers into a tight fist, ready to explode at any second.

He paused.

Through his pulsating vision, he was able to make out a face.

Zola.

“Welcome home, soldier.” He smiled, a deceiving grin dripping with venom. Bucky launched himself at the doctor, clenching the metal fist around his neck relentlessly. As he did so, a guard shoved the barrel of his gun into Bucky’s head. He realized, miserably, that he could either let himself be taken down or he could try to fight.

He was going to fight.

In one swift motion, Bucky dropped the doctor on the ground and knocked the gun out of the guard’s hand. Zola fell to his knees, gripping his throat and coughing hoarsely. As Bucky began to flee for the door, gun still in hand, another two guards advanced on him. He shot one in the chest, throwing both of them off for a second before sprinting out the door. As he advanced, men and women clad with lab coats and smocks dodged out of his way as more guards joined the first. Not willing to look back, he continued through the winding passages of the building, hoping to God there would be an exterior door somewhere.

Finally, he reached the end of the hallway and skidded to a stop. He gasped as he felt the sharp pain of a bullet in his back, stumbling forward for a moment before preparing to use everything left in his body to break the door down. Before he could do so, however, it slammed open as more guards poured through the entrance. 

He was surrounded. He froze and stared around for a split second before realizing that there was no way he was going to make it out of this alive. Two of the guards took the opportunity to grab his arms and lead him down the hallway as all the others followed silently. 

As the entourage made their way down the halls, the doctors eyed them suspiciously. Some scowled angrily, some simply shook their heads before returning to their work. Bucky attempted to take in the entirety of the building, glancing for any potential exits or weak spots in the interior. Most rooms were enforced with the same thick metal and glass as his own, although some simply appeared to be prison cells. 

One particular cell caught his attention - it contained a single piece of furniture. A metal bench with armrests and restraints. Above the bench hung a piece of equipment that he immediately recognized. The realization made his skin crawl. An electroshock machine, designed to fit around the victim’s head. He was all too familiar with the contraption. His mind suddenly traveled nt back to a year or two ago, when they shoved him on a bench and strapped him down and forced him to bite the bullet while they sent the electricity through his brain. It was a feeling like nothing else, an out-of-body experience so intense that the pain was practically numbing. 

One of the guards shoved him forward with the butt of his gun, snapping Bucky back to reality. He had been led to an unfamiliar room with a strange, coffin-sized, metal tube off to the side. Zola sat in the corner next to the device, looking unimpressed and more than a bit pissed off. When he spoke, his voice was sharp, yet calm.

“Put him on ice.” 

The guards kept a tight grip on Bucky’s arms, holding him in place firmly as a man in a smock injected some liquid into Bucky’s neck. A strange, drowsy feeling came over him and he followed obediently as the guards led him to the metal tube. He wanted to protest, but something….whatever they put in him….

He swayed a bit as the door to the tube opened and he was shoved inside. Before he could realize what was happening, it was shut on him. He was alone. He could just make out Zola’s unreadable face outside the small window in the tube, once again flashing him the mysterious, venomous smile. Bucky placed his metal fist on the glass helplessly, terrified of what Zola could possibly do to him next.

Suddenly, a bone-chilling coolness traveled up his body as the window was coated in icy frost. All of his senses left him as the world collapsed into a frigid, bitter nightmare.


	2. Freeze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a lot of fun to write. I used a bit of an experimental writing style for most of it, so any feedback is appreciated!
> 
> Also, I'm going to try to update weekly from now on (hopefully every Sunday or Monday night). 
> 
> Without further ado, here's chapter two!

_ He was back next to the river, alone. The frigid, icy air curled around him, choking him slowly until he was nothing more than a lifeless body.  _

_ Someone walked past him, stopping abruptly at the sight of his form in the snow. He could clearly make out the face - it was Steve. But he was different. His gaze was stoic, void of all sympathy. Steve stared at Bucky for a moment, but proceeded to walk the other direction. _

_ He tried to shout at Steve but was silenced by another figure who came into view. Steve paid the man no mind, already out of his sight. Bucky was dragged away, still clinging on for life. Hot tears pricked in his eyes as he watched Steve’s figure stride into the distance.  _

_ The man dragged his lifeless body by its arm. Darkness came, and finally, he was left alone. Thrown into the river. The cold rushed into his body instantly, wrapping him up as he floated away to peace. _

\-----

He came to slowly. His mind was wide awake but his body refused to move, as if he was chained down. The door slid open and he felt himself fall to the ground before two black-clad men lifted him up by his arms. After a moment, they let him go and instructed him to follow them down the hallway.

His legs moved without thought; he was on auto-pilot. But his body wasn’t the only part that seemed off. His mind felt as if it was filled with cotton, light and airy and blank. He knew he was supposed to be looking for someone, knew he was supposed to be somewhere else….but he couldn’t possibly think of why. He realized, suddenly, that he had no idea how he had gotten here. Or where he was. Or who these people were. His motions became stiffer as he followed the strangers down the unfamiliar corridors, unsure of whether to make a move or not. 

The halls became more familiar as they walked on. The pieces were fitting back together, slowly. Bucky recognized the rooms he had seen earlier, the tiny prison cells, the blank walls and empty offices. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a cell with a strange-looking device hanging off the ceiling over a bench. He knew it….he’d seen one just like it….

Out of nowhere, his memory flooded back and he froze for a moment. The guards in front of him halted, turning his direction and prompting him forward. Reluctantly, he followed. Momentarily, they reached the cell with the electroshock machine. Bucky stopped abruptly at the door. His feet were rooted to the ground. He couldn’t run. The guards would shoot him. But there was no way in hell he was going in there. Not again. Never again.

Unfortunately, the guards had other plans. 

One of them reached to shove him forward, but he noticed in the nick of time. In a moment of pure, adrenaline-driven strength, he slammed his metal fist into the guard’s jaw. The man stepped back, stunned temporarily. The other guard lunged at Bucky, but was quickly taken down with a sharp kick to the gut that left him stumbling back in pain. Noticing an opening, Bucky bolted for the exit, but not before the first guard regained his footing. More guards were called to the scene, and soon, a brawl broke out. Bucky held his own for a short while, maneuvering his way through the chaos and using his prosthetic limb to his advantage. Eventually, he managed to make his way out, but as he stood up to catch his breath, his legs were kicked out from under him.

He was pinned to the ground. A gun was pressed against the back of his head. The cool metal was shoved into his scalp before he was dragged into the room with the machine, attempting fruitlessly to gain back his footing. Once they made their way back to the cell, the guards thrust him inside and promptly shut the door. Two remained on the outside while two kept a close watch on him from within. 

Much to his dismay, Zola was waiting for him in the cell. Contrary to his usual attire, he wore a casual outfit today - an old, button-down shirt and slacks. He seemed much more at ease than last time, which only set Bucky further on edge. Zola was never this….calm. This was too calm. This wasn’t good. Something was off. 

Bucky had his heart set on delaying the inevitable punishment as long as possible, and so, he decided to ask Zola a question. He had nothing to lose.

“ _ What the hell did you do with Steve. _ ” It came out as more of a growl than a question, catching Zola by surprise. However, he responded almost immediately.

His tone was uninterested, bordering on boredom. “The whereabouts of Captain Rogers are none of your concern, Sergeant Barnes.” He shook his head slightly and turned to the guards inside the cell, motioning them forward. Bucky stayed rooted to the spot, unwilling to cooperate. Zola sighed and spoke again. 

“Sergeant Barnes. The process will only be more uncomfortable if you struggle.” Bucky didn’t care. He didn’t care what Zola said. He wouldn’t care if they shot him on the spot. He wouldn’t care if they locked him up alone and left him to rot. He wasn’t going back to that machine. 

Growing impatient, Zola spoke to the guards sternly in Russian. At the command, they both shoved Bucky forward with a startling amount of force. He struggled aimlessly, managing to punch one of the guards in the jaw before the other promptly held him down. 

His wrists were clamped against the armrests with metal shackles, cool and rough against the flesh of his right arm. As the device began to tilt toward his head, his heart dropped to his stomach. He felt himself shaking slightly, felt his whole body protesting what was about to happen. 

Heat flashed through his body and a horrible scream escaped his lips as the world faded to white.

\-----

It was all nightmares. Didn’t matter if he was awake or asleep, the nightmares always followed. He was killed over and over again, choked and dragged under only to be brought back to life whenever they wanted. 

He had no way to fight it. The freezing was cold became routine, the torture was normal. They used the machine all the time, sending electricity through him until all he wanted to do was die on the spot. His limbs were useless and dead. He couldn’t think. He could barely see, his eyes were blurry and his ears were ringing and he couldn’t stop it. 

Sometimes they’d slide a needle into his skin, they’d hold him down and pump the awful liquid inside him. It hurt like hell, but they didn’t care. They never cared. 

It was a cycle, over and over. Every time, they’d get a little bit braver. Try something more dangerous. Test the limits. 

Every time, it hurt less and less.

One day, it stopped hurting.

* * *

_ Toska. _

Longing.

\-----

_ “You are to be the new face of HYDRA.” _

The Soldier stared ahead.

The talking man smiled at him. 

_ The new face of HYDRA. _

_ The new face. _

_ Face. _

The Soldier didn’t have a face.

He didn’t need a face.

There was no new face.

He wasn’t a face.

Was he?

The smiling man continued to speak.

“How do you feel,  _ soldat _ ?”

The Soldier didn’t respond.

The smiling man turned around and talked to another man in Russian.

_ “Was the procedure successful, doctor?” _

_ “Yes, sir.” _

_ “Then why is he unresponsive to questioning?” _

_ “Give him time. He will learn.” _

_ “I should hope so, doctor. You know what will happen to you if this was all a waste.” _

\-----

_ Rzhacyy. _

Rusted.

\-----

The Soldier wouldn’t talk. 

He only spoke to the smiling man.

Sometimes, the other men would come.

They would shout at him.

But he couldn’t speak.

They were choking him and he couldn’t breathe.

He was broken.

That’s what they said.

He wasn’t supposed to be broken.

He was supposed to be good.

To do good.

That’s what the smiling man had said.

That he would do good.

Bring peace.

But he couldn’t bring peace if they were always choking him.

Always freezing him.

Always hiding him away.

Far away.

Alone.

Dead.

But alive.

But dead.

\-----

_ Semnadstat’. _

Seventeen.

\-----

He wasn't going to be the only one.

They would make more soldiers.

But he was the first. 

The best.

The others would be numbers.

But he had a name.

Soldier.

_ Soldat. _

He didn’t come from anywhere. 

He wasn’t anyone.

But he was the best.

Always the best.

He would bring peace.

He wasn’t sure what that word meant,  _ peace _ .

It sounded nice.

The smiling man told him all the time, he was important for peace.

He wouldn’t let him down.

He couldn’t let him down.

\-----

_ Rassvet. _

Daybreak.

\-----

The smiling man had a mission for the Soldier.

It was simple.

One destination, one target. 

The Soldier obeyed. 

They took him in a plane, dropped him on the ground with a gun.

The sun shined brightly, the grass was green. 

The soldier was surprised.

He didn’t remember the sun like this.

It was nice.

For a moment.

The target was neutralized within minutes.

The soldier followed his orders.

But they didn’t care.

They took him back to the base, put him underground.

The sun didn’t shine anymore. 

But he needed it.

He needed the sun.

The Soldier decided to speak for once.

He knew he shouldn’t but he didn’t care.

He needed to see the sun again.

“Can….can we go back there?”

A head turned his way, an unfamiliar face.

“What was that,  _ soldat _ ?”

The Soldier spoke again.

“Can we go back?”

The face sighed at him, a small, angry sigh.

“We are not going back.”

Another person walked in, someone the Soldier knew.  The smiling man.

The first face spoke again.

_ “I'm not sure what’s gotten into him, Zola. He’s been acting strangely ever since we picked him up at the rendezvous.”  _

_ “Leave us. Let me speak to him.” _

The smiling man walked up to the Soldier.

The Soldier sat straight up, still hopeful that they would let him out.

“What seems to be the trouble, Soldier?”

“I want….during the mission, the sun was shining….It’s always dark….here….”

“I’m not entirely certain I understand what you’re saying, Soldier.”

The Soldier thought for a moment.

What was he saying?

He tried again.

“Can I go back outside?”

The smiling man didn’t talk at first.

He studied the Soldier, staring confused at him.

The Soldier stayed completely still.

Finally, the smiling man talked again.

“Unfortunately, Soldier, we can’t do that right now.”

The Soldier stared down at the floor.

The man kept speaking.

“Don’t worry, Soldier. You’ll see the sun again in due time.”

With that, he left.

The soldier was alone, but not for long.

Two figures came into the room and took him down the hallways and back to the machine.

The white flashed through his vision and his skin burned and everything burned.

But it was all over soon.

They took him back down more halls.

To another room.

Told him to step into another machine.

The door closed. 

It was cold.

Too cold.

Freezing.


	3. Comply

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to put this chapter out a couple days early. The fourth chapter is (most likely) going to be much longer than the first three, and I'm going to take the next week and a half to get it finished. After that, I should be back to my normal schedule of uploading one chapter per week. 
> 
> Thanks for bearing with me!

_ Pech’. _

Furnace.

\-----

The Soldier had lots of assignments.

He never missed a target. 

Never failed.

Failure wasn’t an option.

The Soldier always followed orders.

He was good.

He wasn’t broken anymore. 

Except once. 

There were three targets, all in one location.

It was a simple mission.

But as he was about to fire the final shot, a bullet went through his metal arm.

He couldn’t feel it. 

But he was compromised.

Distracted.

Long enough to lose his footing.

There was a fight. 

He made it out.

Missed the final target.

His handlers were disappointed.

Mad.

He hated it when they were mad.

They took him back to the base.

Replaced the plating on his arm.

The doctors left and took him to another room.

They gave him his suit and a mask he’d worn a few times before.

Told him to put it on.

It didn’t make sense.

But he followed the orders.

His handler came back soon.

He was tense, ready for punishment.  But there was no punishment.

And his handler wasn’t alone.

\-----

_ Devyat’. _

Nine.

\-----

There was a second man with the Soldier’s handler.

He stood at attention.

Tense.

The Soldier looked between the two, confused.

The handler spoke.

“I have a mission for you,  _ soldat. _ We’ll be leaving presently.”

He told the soldier about the targets, the return time, the rendezvous. 

But then, he said something that he’d never said before.

“After the failure of the last mission,”

The Soldier stared at the floor.

“We have decided that it would be best to provide some extra protection for your….riskier assignments.”

The other man stepped forward.

He wore all black, just like the Soldier.

His face was masked.

Unrecognizable. 

But that wasn’t what caught the Soldier’s attention.

There was a large, silver shield on the man’s back.

It was metallic and grey, like the Soldier’s arm.

But the Soldier had never used a shield.

Never needed one.

He didn’t need a shield.

He didn’t need protection.

And yet, here he was.

He had failed.

And now he couldn’t work alone anymore.

Because that’s how things had to be.

His handler began to speak in rapid Russian, and the Soldier snapped back to reality.

“Soldier. This is your guard. He has been debriefed on the mission already. I expect both of you to return unharmed.”

“Or there will be….consequences.” The Soldier shuddered on the inside, stiff on the outside.

And with that, they left.

The world outside the base was dark.

Dead.

\-----

_ Dobrokachestvennyy. _

Benign.

\-----

The Soldier was sitting in a car with the masked Guard.

They drove through dark buildings and empty streets.

Dead silent. 

Unflinching.

They reached the destination.

The Guard grabbed his shield, slid it onto his back and followed the Soldier.

Things went smoothly from there.

The targets were easily accessible, but heavily guarded. 

This didn’t stop the Soldier.

He stepped into the building with the targets, unannounced. 

Footsteps quiet.

Silent.

Invisible.

He shot one of the targets’ guards, right in the head.

The targets noticed.

Good.

They followed the sound of the gun, running to the exits as fast as possible.

The Soldier was faster.

Taking the back way, he made it to the entrance to wait for their arrival. 

They were all dead in seconds. 

A few security guards chased after the Soldier.

He bolted outside, just like the plan.

There, his Guard waited.

Together, they fought the rest of the men.

The Soldier was surprised.

They worked well together.

Like a dance, graceful and choreographed.

Connected.

The world around the Solder disappeared and it was nothing but him and the Guard.

Separate bodies, one mind.

One goal.

And suddenly, they were done.

The mission was over.

But the Soldier couldn’t help but wonder what he’d just felt.

It was strange.

Unusual.

But good.

\-----

_ Vozvrashcheniye domoy. _

Homecoming.

\-----

They drove back to base, then took a plane the rest of the way.

The sun was high in the sky now.

Midday.

The Soldier liked midday.

In midday, the Soldier could see everything.

There was no dark, underground bunker.

No doctors.

Just sun.

And the Guard.

The Guard was good.

They made it to the base.

The Guard went one way.

The Soldier went the other.

Back to the machine.

He didn’t fight it.

He knew this was coming.

He’d hoped that maybe this mission would be the exception.

Apparently, he’d hoped wrong.

They ran the shock through his brain.

Everything was gone.

It was all dark.

Black.

Confused.

Tired.

Dead.

The Soldier was guided down winding paths.

Feet like lead.

Thoughts gone.

They put him back in his cell.

The smiling man was waiting.

Pleased.

He directed the Soldier to stand in the metal tube.

The cold slinked up his skin.

The world disappeared.

\-----

_ Odin _ .

One

\-----

The Soldier had one job.

Follow orders.

Or there would be consequences.

That’s what the handlers said.

There were a lot of handlers.

A new one, almost every time.

Every mission, things changed.

Every mission, the Soldier adapted.

He didn’t see the smiling man anymore.

He saw new faces.

Some young, some old.

Some friendly, some terrifying.

But that didn’t faze the Soldier.

Not anymore.

He’d learned.

Grown.

Gotten better.

Faster.

Quieter.

Agile.

Precise.

Strong.

But on some missions, he still didn’t go alone.

He’d go with the Guard.

They would fight together.

Win together.

Connected.

But every time, the connection snapped.

They’d take it from him.

He’d hold on, try focusing himself so that maybe he could hold on for a moment longer.

It never worked.

Every day repeated.

Every mission remained the same.

He was good.

But never good enough.

Because no matter how hard he tried to win, there were always more battles to fight.


	4. Recollect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally posting chapter 4! Sorry for the late update; I should be back on track with my normal posting schedule now. If all goes well, I'll have chapter 5 up by Sunday or Monday.
> 
> My apologies if I have badly butchered the Russian in this chapter. I used Google Translate for it, and I know full well that Google has a tendency to be an unreliable translator.
> 
> The translations for the Russian passages are in the end notes.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

_ Gruzovoy vagon. _

Freight car.

\-----

Pierce didn’t speak to the Soldier often.  But today, he did.

Today was important. 

The Soldier was going to do good.

More good than he’d ever done before. 

He wouldn’t let Pierce down.

Pierce was good. That’s what he’d told the Soldier. 

He was different from the other handlers.

Clean, polished, always wearing a suit. 

He talked precisely, leaving no room for question. 

He told the Soldier about how there would be freedom.

How the world would be free.

How the Soldier would be free.

The Soldier would be free if he followed the orders.

If he didn’t, he’d be alone.

Dead.

But not dead.

But he would feel dead.

And the Soldier didn’t want that.

So he would follow Pierce’s orders.

And one day, there would be peace.

For everyone.

\-----

The Soldier’s mission wasn’t going to be easy.

The Guard was coming as well. They were going back to the United States.

New York.

There were six targets. 

Three would be captured.

Three would be killed.

But these targets weren’t like most. 

They were enhanced. 

At least, that’s what Pierce had said.

They were dangerous. 

If left unchecked, they would disrupt the peace HYDRA was creating.

Pierce had told him that they acted like the Soldier before he was fixed.

The Soldier didn’t like to think about that.

Before he was fixed, he was a monster.

He hurt people.

He was disfigured.

Not functional.

Deformed.

Dying.

But HYDRA had made him better.

They gave him a purpose.

The targets didn’t agree with his purpose.

Opposition was dangerous.

That’s what Pierce said.

\-----

They boarded a jet.

Put the Soldier’s mask on him.

Sat still for a while.

Gave him a gun.

The Guard picked up his shield.

They reached the destination.

Then, they waited.

Time passed slowly.

The Soldier’s heart beat in his ears.

The waiting was always the worst part.

Finally, they got the signal to go.

They left.

It was the middle of the day.

Much harder to remain out of sight than the night missions, but they would manage.

They always did.

They began to advance, slinking through back alleys and thick crowds and empty buildings. 

Hiding in plain sight. 

They reached a tall building, right in the center of the city.

Stark Tower. 

This was it.

As they began to scan the perimeter for any potential weak spots, a blinding flash of light snaked upward from the building, toward the sky.

The Soldier’s head shot up as a dark hole began to open in the clear, blue emptiness. 

The Soldier backed up tentatively, confused.

The void opened up further.

Suddenly, a slew of non-human creatures came swarming out of the blackness.

The Soldier ducked into a nearby alleyway, eyes still transfixed on the sky. 

The Guard, however, remained out in the open.

Mesmerized. 

He didn’t make any attempt to move.

In fact, he began to advance on the building once again.

The Soldier sucked in a sharp breath of air as a swarm of the creatures ran at the Guard. 

He fended them off effortlessly, one after another.

The fight was calculated, logical.

Almost rhythmic.

The Soldier stepped out of the alley to join the Guard.

For a second, the Guard looked his way.

And in that second, he was knocked down. 

Not by an alien, though.

A throng of people had rushed past him as a building nearby began to collapse, throwing off his balance. 

It wasn’t just one building being broken, the Soldier realized.

All around, the city was falling apart.

People were screaming.

Horns were blaring.

Someone - no, something - was jumping from building to building.

A monster….maybe one of the aliens?

It wasn’t human, that much was certain.

It flung itself around the buildings haphazardly, leaving broken windows and crumbling brick in its wake.

This mission was not at all like what Pierce had told him.

Suddenly, the Soldier was startled back into the situation at hand.

A large slab of concrete slammed into the ground directly in front of him.

He realized, with dread, that the Guard had been right where the concrete had fallen.

He ran toward the wreckage.

Sure enough, the Guard was there.

His legs were caught under the rubble.

He struggled, helplessly, under the weight.

The Soldier rushed forward, heaving as he tried to lift the heavy slab.

The metal in his left arm grinded in protest, but he ignored it.

After a few moments, he was able to lift it enough for the Guard to pull himself out.

He dropped the slab and stood still for a moment, right arm aching slightly.

The Guard stared up at him, dazed.

His mask had been knocked off, his face bloody from hitting the asphalt. 

But there was something else.

The Guard’s face.

The Soldier had seen it.

He knew it.

Not from here.

No….

The Soldier shook his head, trying to clear his mind.

He reached out his metal arm to the Guard, who was sitting on the cement and breathing heavily.

The Guard took his hand.

The Soldier pulled him up.

For a moment, it was just the two of them.

Everything else disappeared.

The noise seemed to fade.

The chaos was gone.

But only for a moment.

Reality came back abruptly as the Soldier was pinned to the ground by one of the aliens.

He struggled for a moment before the Guard slammed his shield into the creature’s stomach.

The Soldier gained back his footing.

More of the aliens began to advance on them.

The fight continued. 

They covered for each other, the Guard blocking with his shield as the Soldier shot at the aliens, taking them down one by one.

And just like that, they were back in motion.

Perfectly synchronized, graceful yet deadly.

Connected.

\-----

Every time they seemed to gain ground, more of the creatures appeared. 

They came in waves, constantly falling out of the sky and destroying everything in sight.

It wasn’t just the aliens, though.

The targets.

They were out in the open.

The Soldier could see them, clear as day.

They fended off the aliens as well, but they were much less….united.

They were sloppy, uncoordinated.

Divided.

Leaving a mess in their wake.

But unfortunately for the Soldier, they were impossible to catch.

The mission was still at the forefront of his mind, but as the day went on, their capture appeared hopeless.

The Soldier could see no end to the fight.

\-----

The monsters from the sky were only growing in numbers.

They rode giant, animal-like creatures that tore through buildings haphazardly.

The targets were still alive and well.

Law enforcement had arrived, but hadn’t made a dent in the mess.

It was chaos in its purest form.

Slowly, the Soldier came to a realization.

There was no point to any of this.

He and the Guard had done nothing.

They were no closer to completing the mission.

No closer to returning to base.

No closer to greeting Pierce.

They needed to get out of here.

Go….somewhere else.

Anywhere else.

Something here was off.

The Soldier could feel it.

Clawing at his gut, telling him to leave.

No.  What was he thinking?

Of course they were supposed to be here. This was the mission.

Not just any mission.

The most important mission.

The Soldier grimaced, trying to forget the feelings.

At that moment, one of the aliens’ giant animals crashed to the ground.

The Soldier dove into an alleyway to avoid it as it skidded down the street, its armor scraping against the asphalt. 

The Guard followed the Soldier.

They waited.

Waited.

For something.

But nothing happened.

The Soldier realized, suddenly, that the fighting had stopped.

The city was silent.

As if the world held its breath, waiting.

The Soldier stepped out of the alley cautiously, surveying the damage.

The city was in ruins.

The street was torn up.

The buildings were crumbling at the edges. 

Cars and buses lined the sidewalks, crushed from the heavy rubble.

It was oddly peaceful.

And there, at the center of it all, were the targets.

The Soldier stared at them.

Five of the targets, right in front of his eyes.

Perfectly still.

Unaware.

His vision focused on each one individually, lining up all the shots.

He slowly removed the gun from his back, aiming it at the first of the targets.

He placed his finger on the trigger.

Began to draw it back.

But then, something happened.

The feeling in his gut returned.

This wasn’t right.

Something was horribly wrong here.

He lowered the gun, hand shaking slightly.

He jumped back, startled, as the Guard appeared next to him.

"Chto ty delayesh'?"

"Ya ... ya ne ..."

The Guard stared at him, eyebrows furrowed.

"Vy" ne "? Chto vy govorite?"

The Soldier paused.

After a moment, the Guard spoke.

“Chto ty delayesh'? Misheni pryamo tam. Nam nuzhno vypolnit' missiyu.”

The Soldier responded, voice small and emotionless. 

“I can’t.”

“Well then, I’ll do it myself.”

The Guard took hold of the Soldier’s gun, grasping it tightly and pulling it out of his grip.

He shoved the Soldier away and aimed at one of the targets.

The Soldier stood, frozen.

No.

He couldn’t let this happen.

Not this time.

Not again.

As the Guard prepared to fire the first bullet, the Soldier lunged at him and knocked him off his feet. 

He tore the gun away from his hands, throwing it down the alley with his metal arm.

The Guard stared at him, bewildered.

“What the hell are you doing.” 

Anger laced his voice.

But the Soldier didn’t know what he was doing.

He didn’t know.

He never knew.

The Guard began to run for the gun, but the Soldier tackled him before he was able.

“No!” He shouted, pinning the Guard to the ground for a moment.

The Guard quickly retaliated, easily pulling himself out from the Soldier’s grasp.

He scrambled to his feet, but now the Soldier was between him and the gun.

He went to punch the Soldier, who caught his fist with his metal hand and held it there for a moment.

He relaxed his hand, and the Soldier let him go.

The two stood still for an instant before the Guard ran at the Soldier, kicking him sharply in the gut.

He stumbled back but not for long.

He knocked the Guard to the ground, but the Guard used his momentum to roll over on top of the Soldier.

He leaned in slightly and spoke slowly.

“We. Have. To. Finish. The. Mission.”

“No!”

With that, the Soldier had made up his mind.

They were going to fight.

And so, they did.

Neither was able to gain the upper hand.

They were physical equals.

But eventually, the Soldier began to wear down.

The thoughts were back.

He couldn’t hurt the Guard.

But he couldn’t kill the targets.

He wasn’t going to win this fight.

At this rate, neither of them would.

But he couldn’t stop.

If he stopped now, he would have to give the mission report.

Tell them exactly what happened.

Exactly what he had done.

They wouldn’t like what he had done.

_ Opposition is dangerous…. _

_ Our enemies want to disrupt the peace that HYDRA has worked so hard to create…. _

He was the opposition.

He was the enemy.

The one HYDRA was trying to wipe out.

And yet, he couldn’t stop.

\-----

The Guard shoved the Soldier into a brick wall.

He held him there, punched him hard.

The Soldier’s vision spun.

He felt a kick to his gut, and he fell to the ground.

The Guard glared at him, a horrible, death-filled stare.

“You’re going to regret what you’ve done.” 

The Soldier’s blood ran cold as the Guard picked the gun up off the ground.

“The targets. They’re gone.”

“And I will not be held responsible for your failure.”

The Guard pointed the gun at the Soldier’s masked face.

The Soldier’s heart hammered in his ears.

This was it.

This was the end.

The Soldier didn’t bother moving as the Guard came closer.

He ripped off the Soldier’s mask and threw it on the ground.

He stared at the Soldier for a second before pointing the barrel of the gun at the Soldier’s head.

The Soldier squeezed his eyes shut.

Waited.

After a moment, nothing.

He opened his eyes again.

The Guard still stood above him, unmoving.

But his eyes were wide.

He seemed to analyze the Soldier’s features, growing uncertain the more he looked.

The Soldier was paralyzed, still unsure of what was happening.

The Guard slowly lowered the gun, a stunned look on his face.

He dropped it on the ground.

The Soldier rose to his feet hesitantly.

The Guard seemed to be lost in thought.

The Soldier slowly stepped closer to the Guard.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Everything was still.

The Guard spoke up, barely more than a whisper.

“I….know you….”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian translations:
> 
> "Chto ty delayesh'?" - What are you doing?
> 
> "Ya ... ya ne ..." - I...I don't...
> 
> "Vy" ne "? Chto vy govorite?" - You "don't"? What are you saying?
> 
> "Chto ty delayesh'? Misheni pryamo tam. Nam nuzhno vypolnit' missiyu." - What are you doing? The targets are right there. We need to complete the mission.


	5. Wander

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 is here! I meant to extend it a bit more over the weekend but ended up being much busier than I expected. Hopefully, I'll have more time to make a longer chapter next week. 
> 
> I may start posting some art related to this story in the next few chapters if time permits, so expect some of that in the upcoming weeks! It probably won't be a weekly thing, but I'll try to add a drawing or two at the end of chapters as often as possible!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments and Kudos are always appreciated.

The Soldier and the Guard left the city. 

It wasn’t a conscious decision, but an instinct.

And they didn’t go back to the rendezvous.

They headed in the opposite direction.

To a place neither knew.

They traversed through busy streets in total silence.

Neither guiding, neither following.

Equals. The Soldier’s mind was blank.

He didn’t know what the hell he was doing, what he was feeling.

All he knew was that he was not going back to HYDRA.

To Pierce.

To the machines, the electricity and the pain and the cold, dark prison cells.

The Guard appeared to share his sentiment.

But maybe the Soldier was kidding himself.

But the Guard could have left.

He could have killed the Soldier.

He could have gone back.

But he didn’t.

And he wasn’t leaving now.

The Soldier hoped to God that the Guard wouldn’t desert him now.

He’d be dead.

They’d find him.

And make sure he was dead.

But alive.

But dead.

And he couldn’t….

Not again.

They couldn’t take him away again.

But for now, he was alive.

For now, he was gone from them.

For now, the Guard hadn’t left.

For now.

\-----

The day was coming to a close.

The sun began to set, the city growing dark.

They had a few options: continue wandering through the city all night with no specific goal, attempt to leave the city, lay low for a while and try to find shelter. 

The Soldier wanted to get out of here as soon as possible.

The farther they traveled from the city, the less likely they’d be found.

Probably.

Assuming that HYDRA wasn’t tracking them.

Or sending agents to capture them.

Or monitoring the city so they wouldn’t be able to leave without being noticed.

Shit.

They needed to be careful.

Or else they’d be taken back to the base in a matter of hours.

But staying in the city wouldn’t do them any good.

Eventually, their position would be narrowed down. 

So they would have to leave.

There was no other viable option.

This was risky.

But the other choices were far riskier.

And so, the Soldier began scanning the streets for a potential vehicle of escape.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it.

A sleek black motorcycle, parked at a curb completely unattended. 

He gestured for the Guard to stay back as he made his way up to it.

This part of the city was almost empty, thankfully. 

A few couples strolled down the street, but most paid him no mind. 

No one attempted to stop him.

And so, he looked it over.

It appeared that whoever rode it last had been in a rush to leave - the key had been left on the seat.

The Soldier tried it.

Sure enough, it worked.

It would be a tight fit with the both riders and the Guard’s shield on his back, but it would have to do.

The Soldier pocketed the key and marched back to the guard, guiding him over.

The Guard sat behind the Soldier, who kicked up the kickstand and prepared to leave.

He gripped the handlebars, and for a moment, a familiar memory washed over him.

But it was gone as soon as he tried to focus on it.

He started the engine, took a deep breath, and began to drive straight through the city.

And with that, they were gone.

\-----

The Soldier had forgotten to account for one factor.

Now that he thought about it, that wasn’t true.

There were quite a few factors he hadn’t accounted for.

But this issue was the most pressing at the moment.

The motorcycle was going to run out of gas.

He’d never had to consider fuel consumption before - in the past, HYDRA had provided transportation.

And now, they were going to end up stranded at the side of a road two hours outside of New York City.

The Soldier considered what they could potentially do next. 

He could try to find a town to stop at, maybe purchase some fuel….

He didn’t have any money. Neither of them had any money. There was no need for money when they were with HYDRA.

All of a sudden, the idea of escape didn’t seem nearly as enticing as before.

They had no reliable source of transportation.

No cash.

No shelter.

No sustenance.

No connections with anyone.

Except HYDRA.

And HYDRA wouldn’t be pleased to see them.

Not after this.

So they had to keep going.

The motorcycle ran out of gas a half hour later, slowing and sputtering to a stop.

The Soldier left it by the side of the road, and after a short moment, hid it in the nearby shrubbery so hopefully it wouldn’t clue HYDRA in on their position.

The Soldier didn’t know what to do - he’d been thinking in the moment, completely unprepared.

There was some part of him that had doubted this plan from the start, but he’d ignored it, and now they were both fucked.

The Guard was silent at the Soldier’s side.

His eyes were unfocused as he seemingly stared at nothing.

The Soldier nudged him lightly, and he startled for a second before regaining his stolid demeanor.

The Soldier spoke.

“We can either stop for the night and find shelter or keep going. What do you want to do?”

The Guard’s face scrunched up in thought.

“I-I….”

He sighed, shaking his head in frustration.

“We should go….away. From the city.”

The Soldier nodded in agreement. 

Their only option was to walk. 

And so they did. 

Through the night, they walked as far away from the city as possible.

The sun began to rise early in the morning, revealing just how long it had been since they’d left.

It dawned on the Soldier that he couldn’t remember ever having gone this long without any orders to follow.

There was always some end goal, some target to hit, some mission to accomplish.

Now, there was nothing.

It was up to the Soldier and the Guard what happened next.

He hoped to God they wouldn’t make the wrong choice.

\-----

Their pace slowed to a stroll as the day continued.

Neither had spoken a word since the previous night, which was fine with the Soldier.

Silence normally felt foreboding, like he knew something was just waiting to attack him but he couldn’t hear it yet. But today was different - today, the silence felt natural.

Almost….comfortable.

Almost.

But as the day went on, a feeling of fatigue loomed over the Soldier’s head.

He attempted to ignore it, but by the end of the day, there was no point.

He was dead on his feet.

He tried to remember the last time he rested - at this point, it had been days. 

Even though his body was built to last days at a time without rest or nutrition, the exertion of moving nonstop for the last fifteen hours in addition to the fact that he hadn’t rested after his previous mission had worn him down.

The Guard appeared to share this sentiment.

His gait had slowed considerably, his feet seemingly dragging on the ground with every step.

The Soldier knew they needed to find someplace to recuperate, but there weren’t many options at the moment.

He was accustomed to sleeping out in the open - but that would be risky considering the circumstances. 

By the time the sun set again, however, it was obvious they needed to stop for the night.

After a bit of contemplation, the Soldier walked with the Guard away from the road, where they found a fairly thick, forested area.

The Soldier slumped against a tree, body drained of energy.

The Guard joined him for a moment before rising to his feet.

“I-I-I’ll keep watch.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yes.” 

The Soldier didn’t have the energy to argue.

He drew his knees against himself, curling up drowsily before sinking into a deep slumber.

\-----

_ He was standing in a small room, holding a shield in his left hand and a gun in his right.  _

_ The Guard stood at his side. _

_ It was all the same, yet so different. _

_ His metal arm was gone. _

_ HYDRA wasn’t giving him orders. _

_ But he was still fighting. _

_ For something.  _

_ The enemy shot a hole in the wall and the Soldier realized he was inside a train. _

_ In a split second, he was thrust outside, holding on for dear life. _

_ The Guard reached out his hand. _

_ But not soon enough. _

_ The Soldier fell. _

_ Down, farther than he ever thought was possible, through a ravine and into a dark chasm and he was falling forever but he couldn’t stop it and the farther he fell the harder he cried but there was no one to hear him because he was surrounded by blackness. _

\-----

The Soldier woke up screaming.


	6. Confuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the angst commence.
> 
> I really enjoyed writing this chapter! I'm having a lot of fun making this story and also decided to make some art to go along with the first scene.
> 
> The next update may be delayed until the middle of next week (unless I can finish it by Friday) because I'll be very busy pretty much all weekend. Hopefully I can get it out early, but please bear with me if it comes out a bit late next week. Thanks for reading!

The Soldier’s heart was racing.

Everything was a strange blur, he didn’t know where he was and the sky was collapsing and he knew he was panicking but he didn’t know why.

The Guard rushed over.

He dropped his shield and sat down across from the Soldier.

The Soldier tried to back away but his body was frozen and his mind was frozen and everything was frozen. 

The Guard came closer still.Opened his hands to show he was unarmed.

The Soldier braced himself anyway, still not sure.

But the Guard didn’t advance on him.

Didn’t hurt him.

Didn’t speak.

Just sat, still.

He reached out his hands, and the Soldier still didn’t move because now he was confused because the Guard wasn’t doing anything with his hands, just holding them out to the Soldier and it didn’t make sense.

Then, he hesitantly took hold of the Soldier’s right hand in both of his.

He appeared almost as surprised as the Soldier, staring down at his hands like they’d moved on their own.

But he didn’t let go.

He stayed in the same position, breathing slowly and gripping the Soldier’s hand until the Soldier felt his breathing slow too and it was just them and nothing else.

He’d felt this way before, knew the feeling from something long ago but he couldn’t place the memory and something about it made him feel sick to his stomach.

But that didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered.

Not now.

Right now, at this moment, everything was okay because the Guard was with the Soldier and HYDRA wasn’t taking any of the moments away from them.

Maybe the moments wouldn’t be taken away again.

Maybe he’d never have to lose the connection.

Maybe.

\-----

The next few days went by in a blur.

Time was warped, slowing down so much that the days seemed like months and yet they passed by so quickly that the Soldier couldn’t keep up. 

The feelings didn’t help.

They were a distraction, they’d grab the Soldier when he least expected it and they’d choke him until his lungs were burning.

He knew he was dying, knew it in every fiber of his being, and yet he never really died.

He always came back to himself, but it was never the same.

Something was changing. 

He didn’t know if he was different than before or if the world was different or if the Guard was different or if everything was different.

But maybe he was just crazy.

He thought he was crazy before.

When he’d go on the longer missions, and wasn’t frozen as much, sometimes he’d feel these things.

He’d ask about them, sometimes.

Not most times.

The handlers didn’t like it when he asked.

They made that very clear.

Very.

They wanted him to follow.

To obey.

To be good.

Always.

But at first, he didn’t know that.

He was confused at first.

He thought maybe he was right.

But they made it clear he wasn’t.

Told him he was wrong.

Until he knew it was true.

But maybe it wasn’t true.

Maybe he was right all along, maybe there really was something else and they just wouldn’t let him see it.

Now he felt, deep in his gut, there had to be something else other than the Soldier because sometimes he had dreams about another place.

They were always blurry and they’d end fast and he’d wake up scared, which was strange because the dreams were nice and much better than the memories about the handlers and the base and killing people, so he shouldn’t have been scared, he should have been calm but for some reason the good things always hurt worse than the bad ones.

\-----

The Soldier would think about these things a lot.

They occupied all of his mind, and he grew increasingly frustrated as the feelings continued.

The minute something connected in his mind, the second a thought finally made sense, it was ripped away and tangled and all of a sudden he was back where he started.

There was so much in his head.

Too much.

This is why HYDRA always wiped it all away.

Which hurt.

He didn’t want that anymore, but he didn’t want this anymore because this was confusing and nothing ever made sense and he was getting more scared every day.

Tired, too.

No matter how much he tried to rest, he’d wake up every couple of hours feeling worse than before.

Most nights, he didn’t bother trying to sleep because it never helped anyway.

If he stayed awake, even though he was stuck with the feelings and the confusion, at least he didn’t have to lay awake for hours, didn’t have to dream, didn’t have to wake up crying because that had happened twice and it was bad because the Soldier never cried. 

Both times he cried, he woke up thinking he was back with HYDRA and they were going to wipe him because the Soldier wasn’t allowed to have emotions, because having emotions meant that he had a weakness and they didn’t allow weaknesses and so they were going to take the emotions away but he really didn’t want that because it would hurt really bad.

And both times it happened, the Guard sat next to the Soldier and didn’t talk because the Guard couldn’t talk well but he would just sit there until the Soldier realized where he was, and then everything was a little better because at least he wasn’t alone.

That was good.

He wasn’t alone.

The Guard stayed close by him at all times.

They never left each others’ sides.

And there were some days, when things were going smoothly, that they would be walking side by side and one of them would reach out a hand and the other would take it and they would just walk like that, and for a bit things were quiet and calm and nice.

They would be connected.

When their hands would weave together something warm bubbled inside the Soldier’s chest, and for a while all the nightmares and dreams and confusion were gone.

\-----

There was a routine they followed.

They’d sleep in shifts (if they slept at all).Then, they’d find food and a water source.

After that, they would spend most of the day walking around and wandering through any nearby towns. 

They made sure to never visit the same town twice.

They’d leave their most obvious weapons outside the borders, making sure to keep them well-hidden. 

Then, they’d go from store to store, sometimes only looking around, sometimes taking things like food or water or medical supplies just in case.

They had to find different clothes, too, since the Soldier’s arm was too noticeable and their matching outfits weren’t exactly discreet. 

Now, the Soldier wore a pair of black jeans, a dingy grey jacket, a single glove on his left hand, and a hat. 

The Guard was similar, with a blue sweatshirt and sunglasses (which, frankly, the Soldier thought looked ridiculous, but he didn’t bother pointing it out). 

Some days, the residents of the towns would give them odd looks as they walked by, but most times they didn’t even bat an eye. The Soldier and the Guard were invisible. 

Which was good.

The longer they were invisible, the longer they’d have to figure out how to get away from HYDRA’s grasp for good. 

That was the plan they’d made: keep moving until they found someplace far, far away. Probably a small city, because the larger cities were too obvious and the countryside wouldn’t provide enough places to hide out if their location was revealed. 

Once they’d reached their destination, they’d look for some sort of work so that they would have access to currency and they (hopefully) wouldn’t have to sleep out in the open anymore. 

They’d save up whatever money they could get their hands on, find a semi-permanent location to reside at, and then….the Soldier didn’t know.

Normally when they talked, that was where the discussion ended. 

Their conversations never lasted long, but at least the Guard would sometimes talk. 

It was an improvement. 

And at this point, small improvements were all the Soldier could really ask for.

\-----

It was late at night.

The Soldier was slouched against a tree, the Guard sitting next to him, calm and still. 

It was a comfortably warm night - not too hot and humid, which was good.

A slight breeze rustled through the leaves, but aside from that, the world was silent.

As the Soldier began to drift off to sleep, to his surprise, the Guard spoke.

His voice was low and quiet, not much more than a whisper, but the Soldier still heard him clearly.

“D-d-d….do you….do I….have a name?”

The Soldier was caught off-guard by this question. Normally when the Guard spoke, it was purely strategic: explaining destinations, asking about meeting points, discussing where they would go next. 

But this was entirely different.

And the Soldier had no idea how to respond.

_“Do I have a name?”_

It seemed like such a simple question, with an easy answer.

But as the Soldier pondered it more, his mind came up blank.

He’d only known the Guard as….well, the Guard. 

As for himself, he was simply the Soldier.

But that didn’t seem quite right anymore. 

In fact, that seemed terribly wrong.

There was no way he was still the Soldier.

He didn’t kill anymore.He didn’t fight.

He didn’t train.

He wasn’t given any orders.

But if he wasn’t the Soldier, what was he?

If the Guard wasn’t the Guard, what was he?

He racked his brain for something else, anything else he was called by.

_The Asset._

That wasn’t it.

_The new face of HYDRA._

Definitely not.

_Soldat._

He didn’t even want to think about that name. Not if he didn’t have to. That was the name they called him when he’d go on missions, when they’d tell him what to do and he had to follow whatever they said even when his gut twisted and his head hurt and it seemed so wrong.

He had no name.

He was nameless.

The other man was nameless.No matter how much he tried to focus, he couldn’t come up with any answer to the other man’s question.

The other man wasn’t the Guard - not anymore. 

He simply was.

They simply were.

The Soldier….no, not the Soldier….finally spoke up, breaking the silence between the two of them.

“I don’t know.”

\-----

_He was sitting in a chair, wrists clamped down, unable to move._

_He was alone, he realized._

_But not for long._

_His heart dropped as a man he recognized stepped into the room, clad with a white coat, slacks, and glasses._

_The smiling man._

_He stared at the Soldier, gave him one of the terrifying looks that made his skin crawl, and then sat on a stool next to him._ _The Soldier tried to free himself, but he couldn’t break through the restraints._

_After eyeing him for what felt like hours, the smiling man finally moved._

_The Soldier had to bite down on something rubber._

_Then, the electricity came._

_He was screaming and the world was white and everything was falling apart and it burned like hell but no matter how hard he tried he was trapped and he couldn’t move._

_Then it was over._

_The Soldier was panting, his chest hurt and his head was buzzing and he felt like he would collapse any second._

_But the smiling man didn’t care._

_He sat next to the Soldier again, the unsettling smirk on his face._

_“How do you feel, Sergeant Barnes?”_

* * *

_\- Connection -_


	7. Flee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 is here! I ended up having some unexpected free time on my hands last week - I was in contact with someone who had COVID-like symptoms, so I quarantined for a few days while they waited for their test results. Thankfully, they tested negative, and the time at home was nice.
> 
> Chapter 8 will be another long one, and I'm hoping to finish it this week but it may be a bit late. Thanks for understanding! :D
> 
> \----- 
> 
> * Trigger warning for panic attacks and mentions of blood *

_ “How do you feel, Sergeant Barnes?” _

\-----

He shot awake, sitting rigidly and staring straight ahead. 

_ Sergeant Barnes. _

_ Barnes. _

_ Sergeant. _

A thousand memories flooded through his head at once, clashing and blending together into a strange nightmare even though he was wide awake.

Gunshots.

A searing pain in his left arm.

A stranger grinning at him.

Crowded streets filled with laughing people.

A slip of paper with his name on it.

The scream of a child.

Blood.

His reflection in a pond, distorted by the rippling water.

A radio.

Someone crying.

A dimly lit bar.

Dancing, spinning in circles, a woman smiling at him.

Needles in his arm.

His skin being sliced open.

Blood trickling down his head.

Choking.

Dying.

_ Dying. _

He didn’t realize he was hyperventilating until his vision blacked out.

\-----

He didn’t want to wake up.

His mind was completely blank, and his body felt like dead weight.

He couldn’t move himself.

He was stuck, lying on his back with his eyes closed because he couldn’t open them or else he’d be awake for good and maybe if he just stayed still for long enough he could sink back into the blackness and be gone.

An arm wrapped around his shoulders and he jerked away, startled.

A memory flashed across his mind, a memory of a person putting their arm around him and he thought they were on his side because that’s what he’d been debriefed on but then the moment he let his guard down they shackled his wrists and shoved him into a prison cell and left. And he stayed there in the cold darkness for what felt like years, until the joints of his metal arm froze up and he was exhausted but he couldn’t sleep because he knew if he did he wouldn’t wake up. Someone from HYDRA found him, and he tried to walk over but his legs gave out and the agent shouted at him, dragged him out by his hair and screamed at him the whole way back and he had no clue what the hell he had done wrong.

He shook his head, trying to forget, heart pounding. 

The Guard….not the Guard….the other man….was sitting inches away from him. Arm still outstretched. 

He didn’t move for a moment but then spoke to the other man.

“Get away from me.” The other man stared back, confused.

“What d-did I -” The Soldier cut him off, voice dripping with venom.

“Get. The fuck. Away from me.” 

He stood up, backing away slowly.

“I-I-I was just trying to help -” The other man walked over to the Soldier, hesitantly offering his hand again. “I won’t….I won’t hurt you.” The Soldier stopped, stared at the Guard, assessing him for a moment. His whole body was shaking, his mind running a mile a minute as he tried to slow down. 

But there was no stopping now.

He reached out to the Guard, put his hand out, and in that moment, he punched the Guard in the face with his metal fist hard enough to stun him.

Then, he was off running.

He had no idea what the fuck he had just done, didn’t know why he’d done it, didn’t know where he was going. But he had to get away. And fast.

He sprinted out of the forest, caution thrown into the wind as he barrelled down the open road. A thousand thoughts went through his mind at once.

Some told him to go back.

But he ignored those.

He kept running.

No destination, no end goal. 

But he needed to go somewhere else, quickly.

After a few minutes, he made it to a nearby town.

he glanced behind himself to see how close the Guard was.

But to his surprise, he couldn’t see him at all. 

It was strange - something about it didn’t seem right, but the Soldier didn’t bother questioning it.

Right now, he just needed to find somewhere….somewhere to wind down.

Remembering that he was out in the open (and could easily be spotted by anyone planning on ratting him out), he pulled his glove over his left hand and took off his hat, running his fingers through his hair before putting it back on.

He wasn’t sure what to do next - he couldn’t remember the last time he’d traveled this far alone. In the past, HYDRA had fed him all of the directions he’d needed. Then, the Guard had been with him, and even though neither of them had a plan in mind, it didn’t really matter because they were always together, always watching for each other. But now, he’d fucked it all up.

He couldn’t go back, couldn’t try to find the Guard. He’d punched him in the face and left him alone - he was sure the Guard wouldn’t exactly be happy to see him again.

And so, he continued into the town.

It was a small area, appearing relatively abandoned. After a quick look around, the Soldier found that the town was made up of two parts: a small neighborhood on the north side and a street lined with brick buildings - most of them shops - out south. 

He headed over to the south side, hoping to avoid civilian contact if at all possible. He knew that it would make no sense for a HYDRA affiliate to hide out in a tiny, crumbling town like this one, but he also knew that it was still a possibility. HYDRA had always gone to great lengths to make sure their goals were carried out, and so the Soldier was determined to have his guard up at all times.

He strolled over to one of the nearby buildings, a convenience store. A small neon sign, reading “OPEN” in red lettering, hung in one of the windows. The Soldier reached for the door and opened it slowly, as if he was expecting a bomb to go off as soon as he stepped inside. He jumped as the little bell above the door rang, announcing his presence to whoever was inside the store. To his relief, no one seemed to notice him. 

The building was almost empty, aside from the man standing behind the checkout counter who hadn’t even looked up from his phone when the Soldier walked in. The Soldier was glad for this, of course - the less people that noticed him, the better - but he still wasn’t used to his presence being ignored entirely. 

He ambled through the store with no goal in mind - in fact, now that he thought of it, he wasn’t entirely sure why he had come in here in the first place. He didn’t need anything at the moment, and frankly didn’t even have a reason to visit this town at all. He could just leave now, keep traveling from city to city on his own, try to find a place without anyone else around. But for some reason, he’d stopped here. And something inside of him was telling him to stay. So he did. 

He gazed around the aisles absently, making his way to the back of the store after a couple of minutes. In one of the back corners, there was an unmarked door. The Soldier decided to try it. Before opening it, he took a quick glance back at the cashier, who appeared to be asleep.

How strange.

The Soldier tried the door, and sure enough, it was open. It led to a small, unlit room. The Soldier felt around for a light switch, and when he found it, he was stunned at what he saw. 

The room was nothing special - just an average corner store bathroom; that was nothing new. 

But something else had caught the Soldier’s attention.

There, right in front of him, was a mirror.

He stared at it, breath caught in his throat.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his reflection. It had to have been months, probably years.

His face was thinner than he recalled. His eyes had taken on a bit of a glassy shine, complemented by the dark circles he definitely didn’t remember having the last time he looked at himself. A thick stubble lined his jaw, and his hair had grown down almost to his shoulders. He knew he’d changed after leaving HYDRA, but this….this was more than he’d realized.

He sighed. It didn’t matter what he looked like. There was nothing he could do about it. Not now. Besides, it was probably better if he was less recognizable anyway. He turned to leave, catching one last glance of himself in the mirror before heading out of the store as quickly as possible.

\-----

He spent a couple hours strolling through the town, watching the residents out of the corner of his eye. Trying his best to blend in, to copy their mannerisms, even though he knew it was pointless because he was an outsider. No one acted particularly hostile toward him - in fact, most people paid no attention to him. But the feeling of being different, of being unwelcome, mingled with him as he planned what he was going to do next.

He hadn’t gotten far.

His goal was to hide out - to disappear until he could never be found again. But the more he thought about it, the more he turned it around in his mind and weighed all the potential risks, the more impossible it seemed.

HYDRA had eyes everywhere. He’d learned that early on. They could find one person out of a million in a matter of hours, calculating their every move in order to pinpoint their exact location and trajectory at any given moment. He was surprised they hadn’t taken him back already. Part of him was glad, but part of him only grew more suspicious. Maybe they were lying in waiting; maybe they had a whole team standing right outside the borders of the town he was in, maybe they were tracking him in anticipation of his next move, maybe they’d find him now, maybe they’d already found the Guard - 

The thought made his heart stop.

_ Maybe they’d already found the Guard. _

But they couldn’t have. The Soldier refused to believe that they could have found him, not this quickly….

He had to go find the Guard before HYDRA did.

He went back the way he came, tracing the road back to where he’d left the Guard.

As he’d predicted, there was no one there.

So, he went on.

He ran to the next town over, scouring the nearby neighborhoods, sprinting down the highway until his legs were numb but never finding a clue of where the Guard was.

By the time the sun was setting, he still hadn’t seen a trace of the Guard. A feeling of dread had settled in his chest, like a heavy weight he couldn’t get rid of. He didn’t even know where he was anymore. He’d taken a back road about an hour ago in order to search a city more thoroughly and for the first time in his memory he’d gotten himself completely lost.

He didn’t want this.

Any of this.

He wanted to be back with the Guard, but not like this. 

When he was in the little town earlier that day, he’d seen two people coming out of a restaurant. A man and a woman. They exited together, talking and laughing as they walked down the street. As they walked, the man slung his arm around the woman’s shoulders. She leaned into him, whispering something the Soldier couldn’t hear, and the man smiled at her. No, not smiled. He beamed at her, his eyes bright and happy. Then, they stopped and stood still and the Soldier wasn’t sure what was happening. The man took the woman’s hands in his, pressed his lips to her knuckles, and then pulled her against his chest.

They stood like that for a while. Just nice and happy and good. The Soldier wanted that, he wanted to make the Guard smile and help him not be so terrified all the time and he wanted to do nice things with the Guard like go to a restaurant and maybe they wouldn’t have to hide forever and maybe someday HYDRA would stop looking for them so they could walk down the street together without fearing for their lives.

What the hell was he thinking?

They would never be free. 

As long as they lived, they’d never be free. 

Even if HYDRA was wiped off the face of the Earth, they were still criminals.

They weren’t like the people the Soldier would see in town. They were weapons. They were designed for one purpose, and without that purpose, they were nothing. They weren’t civilians and they would never be, no matter how much the Soldier wanted things to be that way. The Soldier could try to be like everyone else, but he’d never really be able to because he was a murderer and a thief. He’d killed people with his own two hands, and he tried not to think about it because something about it seemed so wrong now, even though he’d just followed orders but now he thought maybe it was wrong what he’d done.

However, he didn’t have time to focus on the crimes he’d committed. Right now, he needed to find the Guard. And he wasn’t going to stop until he did just that. 

\-----

The sun was shining. 

Bright beams filtered through the trees.

It was perfect, all perfect.

The Soldier wanted to rip it to shreds.

Wanted to take it away and shower the world with darkness. 

He hated it.

It’d been two days.

Two fucking days.

He still didn’t have a trace of the Guard.

He had no idea where he could have gone - at this point, he could be anywhere. 

He’d been searching day and night, not bothering to take any breaks because he knew he’d lose time if he did. 

But it was too late.

Wherever the Guard was, the Soldier wasn’t going to find him.

The idea of separation - of traveling alone, planning out his every move without consulting anyone else, being isolated for the foreseeable future - hadn’t crossed his mind until now. He’d kept up a hope that he was just looking in the wrong places, that the Guard was right around the corner and he was just kidding himself. 

That hope was quickly dwindling.

\-----

The Soldier’s pace had slowed to a walk. As the day had gone on, his thoughts had wandered from reality until he was completely disconnected from the world around him. But no matter how much he tried to distract himself, they kept circling back to the same subject. The name.

Barnes.

Trying to decipher the origins of said name was like trying to navigate through a thick cloud of fog. The more he thought about it, the blurrier it became. There were sometimes things that would seem familiar to him, moments from a different time. But he couldn’t draw a connection between himself and the man in those memories. That man seemed happy, even though not all the memories were happy and a lot of them were sad now that he thought about it. But still, the man from the memories seemed happier and he smiled a lot and laughed and was relaxed most of the time. 

The Soldier couldn’t remember smiling, couldn’t fathom even having a reason to laugh. His muscles ached because of how tense he was. He was wound up like a spring, confused all the time. There was no way he was the person he knew from the memories.

But something about those memories, something about those moments, felt so real that the Soldier hoped maybe they were his.

\-----

_ Bucky. _

The name came to him slowly, hazily, like something out of a dream.

Letter by letter, it had formed itself in his mind.

He recognized it - he knew it, he’d known it before but he didn’t know where.

It wasn’t from the handlers. They never called him anything except Soldier, or maybe the Asset. No, this name came from somewhere else. 

He racked his brain for the answer. He almost felt he knew it, as if it was right in front of him but he couldn’t quite grasp it. All of his thoughts were mixing together and he couldn’t separate them anymore. But something, someone familiar, was reaching out for him.

A memory came to his mind.

A blonde man who looked almost like….the Guard? But….smaller. He was smaller. And less tired. He was looking at the Soldier, talking to him.

_ “Buck, are you alright?”  _

He seemed concerned. But the Soldier didn’t reply, just stared at the man. Trying to make sense of the situation. Who was this? Why was he so familiar? Why did his face look just like the Guard’s?

Suddenly, it clicked in his mind.

He stopped dead in his tracks, heart dropping to his stomach as he recalled the man’s name.

Steve.

The Guard was Steve. 

The Soldier was Bucky.

They’d known each other before. Before HYDRA. Before everything. The Soldier was sure of it.

And even if the memories were blurry and strange, the Soldier was certain for the first time that they were real. They had to be real. 

Somehow, they’d both ended up with HYDRA. The Soldier didn’t know how; he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to know.

But once they were under HYDRA’s command, all they did was fight. They would fight together time and time again because they worked better than any other pair and they always eliminated every target.

Then they’d run away, and the Soldier was finally beginning to see why. He’d recognized the Guard, he’d known him and they’d been connected and he couldn’t see why at first. But now he knew, now he knew why he’d felt connected and he hoped to God he could find Steve again and tell him because Steve needed to know. 

But Steve would never know. He’d lost him.

He had no trace of him. He had no fucking clue where he could be.

He was on his own.

And he hated it. At that moment, as memories of the Soldier, Bucky, Steve, the past, his missions, as all of it came back, he buried his head in his hands. 

It was all too much. Everything he thought he’d known and everything he didn’t know had been turned upside down, and he was completely alone. 

Lost. 

Exhausted. 

Terrified. 

He wanted to go home. But he knew deep inside himself that whatever home he’d known before, wherever he’d met Steve - that home was long gone. And it was never coming back. 


	8. Remain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the late update! I decided to take a bit of a hiatus last week because I was getting burned out from posting every week, but I'm feeling much better about all that now. I'm planning on getting another chapter out by next Monday so that I can get back to my regular schedule, and if that doesn't happen, I'll post it the following weekend. 
> 
> Also, I'm quarantining yet again because of the third COVID scare in my household over the last month. Got tested last week because I was having symptoms, test came back negative, got tested again yesterday because one of the people I live with tested positive. I've had plenty of extra time to write (hence why I was able to get this chapter out), but I still feel pretty sick, so...I don't know. I have no idea where I was going with that spiel. I guess I'll end with this: as a final note to anyone considering testing, please do. The process is not nearly as bad as I expected (only stings for a few seconds if you get the nasal test, and your eyes might water but it doesn't really hurt), and it's worth it if you test negative because you can avoid a 2-week quarantine.

He slept alone that night, and when he woke up, he was even more tired than before. A sort of numb ache had settled in his legs, making every step heavy. It was as if all of the life had been sucked out of him. His body protested every movement, as if he was moving in slow motion. 

But that wasn’t what worried him. 

It was his mind that he was really worried about. Thoughts didn’t come to him as easily as they normally did. Even simple things he’d been doing for days, like always checking over his shoulder, were forgotten as he trudged on. A fog had seemingly settled in his brain, muffling everything and making it difficult to think straight. But he tried his best to ignore this. It was all he could do. 

As he reminded himself constantly throughout the day, his only option was to keep moving. 

At this point, everything was instinctual. He wasn’t thinking - his body acted for him. His mind was in a completely different place, distant from reality. It was a strange feeling, being so disconnected from his own actions. 

But he didn’t mind. 

He didn’t have a goal anymore. 

There was no objective.

He could drop dead right here, on the outskirts of an unfamiliar city, and no one would ever know.  No one would remember him. No one would care. He’d be gone, his body would be gone, his mind would be gone, everything would be gone, and no one would even know.

Maybe it would be better that way, with no one really remembering who he was. If people here knew him - really knew him, knew what he’d done and who he’d killed and why he was here, they’d probably just execute him anyway. So maybe it was better that no one knew. 

If he died, someone would probably find his body, and maybe they’d send it in for some kind of autopsy. They’d pick him apart, piece by piece, just like they’d done before. Except that he was alive the first time they did it, and it hurt a lot the first time they did it. It wouldn’t hurt if he was dead. He’d just be another number in their records. That was all he really was to them anyway. A number. Not a name. Not a face. Not a person. A number. 

He knew he’d had a name before, but it didn’t seem right. That name belonged to someone who hadn’t lived his life. Hadn’t done the things he’d done. Hadn’t seen the things he’d seen. It wasn’t his name. Not now, at least.

Maybe someday, it would be.

That was a nice thought.

But he’d be dead anyway, so it wouldn’t matter if he had a name or not.

\-----

He found himself in a city. It was different than most of the places he’d seen so far - larger, cleaner, filled with old-looking buildings. He hadn’t bothered to figure out where he was in the past. It hadn’t mattered to him. But now, he was curious. 

Washington, D.C. That’s what he found. America’s capital, at least that’s what the map said. There appeared to be lots of tourists here, shuffling from place to place. Some walked alone, some were in small groups, dragging screaming children, some traveled in large packs. It was easy to blend in here.

He found himself wandering through the city along with everyone else. There wasn’t much else to do here. He had nothing to lose anymore. He stayed in the crowds, walked with his head held low. He wouldn’t be recognized. So he wandered aimlessly as the day continued. 

Eventually, he reached a museum. The Smithsonian. Against his better judgement, he entered the building and traversed through the various rooms. For a long time, nothing stuck out to him. Then, something caught his attention.

A regular room, laid out just like the rest of them. But it wasn’t….wasn’t like the rest.

Because right in the center was a picture of Steve. 

An inscription below the exhibit read  _ Captain America. _

That was confusing enough, but that wasn't the worst of it. 

Off to the side was a black-and-white picture of him.

_ Bucky Barnes.  _

_ 1917-1944. _

He was in a museum.

A fucking museum. 

This couldn’t be true - according to the inscription, he was dead. 

He’d been dead for decades.

But he wasn’t dead.

He was right here.

What the hell was this, then?

What had happened?

How was he here?

How had Bucky died?

He couldn’t stay here any longer.

He exited the building, got as far away as possible from the throng of people waiting in the entrance. 

He paced down the sidewalk in a straight line, hoping to find a quick way out of the city. He couldn’t stay here. Something in his gut was screaming at him to leave, to run away and never look back. But he couldn’t run, not now. That would draw attention to him.

So he walked on, eyes darting from side to side, up and down, scanning all possible entries and exits, assessing the abilities of those around him. For the last few days, the feeling of being watched had subsided enough that he hadn’t felt it necessary to keep his guard up every second. But now, it was back in full force.

\-----

When he was with HYDRA, he didn’t just have a “feeling” of being watched.

It was a fact; he knew that every second he spent away from that godforsaken base, he was being monitored. 

They kept track of his every movement, to the point that some of the handlers had the ability to calculate his moves before he even made them.

That sense of constant surveillance had loomed over his head during every mission. Every movement he made was recorded, every misstep critiqued, every faulty strategy improved until he was practically incapable of missing a target. 

They’d stripped him of every sensation until he was a living, breathing weapon. No goal except the elimination of the next target. No feelings, no thoughts, no desires, nothing. 

But somehow, that wasn’t it.

There was more than that, much more that he couldn’t grasp.

Whatever had been in that museum, those events, those memories, those faces - they were his. 

For some reason, though, he couldn’t stand it.

Looking at that person in the museum, seeing his face - it made him sick. Made him want to scream, run away, hide out. He hated that person. But he was….they were the same person. 

It didn’t make sense.  But he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

As he reached the city limits of Washington, D.C., the sky had begun to grow dark. 

The crowds had dispersed, the night was approaching soon. 

If he wanted, he could leave now. No one would see, no one would know that he’d ever been here.

But he wasn’t going to leave.

He’d made up his mind. He’d stay here until he could figure out exactly what had happened to Bucky, and how the Soldier had come out of it.

\-----

The next day, he went back to the Smithsonian. He didn’t bother taking a second glance at any of the other exhibits, traveling right to the one he’d left yesterday. 

There it was again.

His face.

_ Bucky Barnes. _

_ 1917-1944. _

That wasn’t it, though. Above those words, in smaller print, were paragraphs about Bucky. They mentioned how he served in World War II. How his friend, Steve Rogers, saved him from HYDRA. How he’d become a part of another group in the army, the Howling Commandos. 

The words meant nothing. There was no meaning behind them, no connection to the Soldier. All he could gather from the inscription was that most of the world presumed he was dead. 

Except for HYDRA.

And maybe Steve.

Everything else, the description of his life and his service, was incomplete. Or completely incorrect. Or maybe both. He couldn’t remember ever having served under anyone other than HYDRA….

That wasn’t entirely true.

There were - fragments. Memories of himself holding a sniper rifle, but his left hand wasn’t metal, it was flesh. And there were others around him. And he didn’t have a mask, and he wasn’t wearing the uniform HYDRA had given him for all of his missions. 

But the fragments were incomplete, unreal, as if they never really happened. But maybe they had. Maybe, this was proof.

Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe he really was losing his mind.

\-----

There was another room in the museum, but this one was pitch black and filled with seats. Hesitantly, he chose one in the back corner, close to the exit. 

The screen in the front of the room lit up bright white and began to show some footage. 

It was Bucky. Again. 

But this time, he was with Steve. On the screen, Steve and Bucky looked at each other for a moment and then laughed. Steve was wearing the uniform he had on in the rest of the exhibit - a suit with a star in the middle of the chest. He was smiling, and when he laughed his eyes crinkled a bit at the corners.

He’d never seen Steve smile like this. He couldn’t remember seeing Steve smile at all. He always looked tense, his eyebrows knitted together, lips pursed. 

Now that he thought of it, he couldn’t really remember himself smiling, either. No one smiled at the HYDRA base. Not the doctors, not the other soldiers, not the Guard. Just blank, empty stares. The handlers would sometimes smile at him, but it wasn’t like Steve’s smile or his smile on the screen. Their smiles were forced, in a straight line, which always set the Soldier on edge. 

But HYDRA wasn’t all he had.

There was more.

In his mind, somewhere long ago, he knew that he’d seen people smile. People being happy. 

He was determined to get those memories back.

\-----

He stayed until the tape finished playing, left the dark room and wandered out of the museum.

Once again, he had no destination in mind. No mission to complete. No orders, no parameters, no targets. 

But he had a goal. 

He had to remember.

What, exactly, he had to remember….that was still unclear.

But he had a start.

And that was enough for now.

\-----

He spent the next week in D.C., sometimes spending hours at the museum, sometimes walking through the city until his legs ached, sometimes just sitting on a bench by himself. 

He’d begun to recognize some of the residents, taking note of their routines. He never spoke to any of them, and yet, he felt a strange connection to them.

There was the woman with the red hair, always tied in a bun. She was easy to spot in a crowd, with two small children lagging behind her everywhere she went. She looked tired. Her head drooped, her posture was bent, she seemed to drift from place to place aimlessly.

There was the tall man who towered a head higher than most of the other residents. He'd never seen him without a suit. His hair was combed back neatly, he stood proudly, folding his hands behind his back whenever he spoke to anyone. 

There was the man who went on a run every morning before the sun rose. His hair was buzzed, and he wore a sweatshirt and tennis shoes every time he went out. He ran everywhere, sometimes miles and miles, sometimes just sprints. He was never in the city during the day, only before dawn when there was no one else around. 

There was the woman with the glasses pushed all the way up her nose. She owned one of the shops in town, he'd figured out. She stood outside the shop a lot of the time, greeting people as they walked by. She’d even smiled at him as he had passed by, which caught him off guard because normally when people saw him, they’d back away a bit or they’d look the other way or even scowl at him. But the woman with the glasses didn’t do that. Which was good.

Every day, he recognized more and more faces. It was never anything exciting, never anything out of the ordinary. Nonetheless, he was enticed by the monotonous routines. The bland familiarity of it all became almost….comforting.

It was a distraction, something he could focus on when his mind became too loud and his thoughts were tangled and twisted. 

And so, he continued to reside in the city as a spectator. Invisible to most, threatening to those who noticed him. He hadn’t meant to come off as a threat - in fact, he considered himself the opposite. But he realized early on that he didn’t exactly appear friendly. He never spoke to anyone, never wiped the blank expression off his face, and avoided almost everyone around him. It wasn’t like there was much else he could do at this point - he had to stay in the background, at least for now.

But someday, maybe he wouldn’t have to hide.

Maybe he’d be able to talk to the others, maybe he’d live a normal life, maybe things would turn around for him.

Maybe.

\-----

He tried not to think about Steve often. It was always in vain; his memories constantly led back to him. But the longer he spent alone, the more he wished Steve was there as well.

He could talk to Steve. He didn’t mind that Steve didn’t respond most of the time, and he always stuttered and his voice shook when he spoke. That didn’t matter. Not to him. 

It would be nice to have someone talk to, he’d realized. Most people in D.C., even the ones who walked to work alone, even the ones without children or partners, talked to others at some point in the day. The last time he talked to someone - the last time he’d had an actual conversation, not just a quick exchange of words - seemed like ages ago. It probably was.

And at this point, he forced himself to accept that this was the norm now. This was what he would have to expect. His objective was to survive and to stay under the radar until he couldn’t any longer. It wasn’t ideal, it wasn’t exciting, but it was necessary. 

But that wasn’t to say that he was going without interaction entirely. 

In fact, he’d recently convinced himself to start looking for work in D.C. There was only so much he could do without any money to speak of. He could access water easily enough, he could find food, he knew of places he could hide when he needed to sleep, But in order to do so, he had to spend hours every day walking from one side of the city to the other, getting creative with hideouts so that he never stayed in the same place twice. The system was inconvenient and ended up costing him more energy than he gained, so he decided to look for alternate ways to get by. 

It’d taken him a while to figure out what he was going to say, the story he would make up if he was asked who he was, where he came from, why he was here. By the time he’d finally come up with a somewhat convincing lie, he’d been in D.C. for a total of 12 days. 

Then, of course, there was the matter of his appearance. He’d known from his first day in the city that he looked different than almost everyone else. Most of the people hanging around the city were bright-eyed, clean-shaven tourists. He stuck out like a sore thumb among them, and he knew it, and there wasn’t much he could do. But he knew he had to do something. 

The first thing he did was shave off his beard. He found a pack of razors and a pair of scissors in the back of one of the tiny convenience stores on the outskirts of the city and stole both, which he immediately regretted. But he vowed that as soon as he got paid, he’d pay the store back. Somehow. He shaved his beard off entirely and then cut his hair until it was a bit longer than chin-length. It didn’t seem like much, but it made a large difference. 

He worked on making himself stand straight up, looking ahead instead of looking down. Smiling still felt unnatural, but nonetheless he somewhat succeeded in making himself look less….dead. Which was good. Hopefully that would be enough. 

\-----

The next day, he entered the city earlier than usual. He’d spent the night outside the town, unable to sleep at all. But that didn’t matter now. Now, he would have to try to make himself look as animated and approachable as possible. And maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to get himself a job somewhere. 

He decided to go to the shop with the woman with the glasses. Like a lot of the stores in the area, the front door had a “Now Hiring” sign in the front window. But that wasn’t the only reason he’d chosen this place to look first. The owner had seemed friendly towards him before, even going as far as saying hello to him every time he passed by the storefront. He’d never entered the shop before - he never went inside any of the stores if he could avoid it - but now, he took a deep breath and walked inside. 

It was a gift shop of some kind, he realized. The shelves were stocked full of keychains with names on them, magnets with pictures of buildings, snow globes, license plates, bottle openers, and even pocket knives. It was a small room, relatively cramped, but for once, he didn’t mind the closed-in space.

He made his way to the back of the store, over by the counter. There, the woman stood, restocking one of the shelves on the back wall. As he approached, she spun around to face him. 

“Hello! Do you need help finding anything?” Her voice was cheerful and energetic, her whole countenance bright. 

“I….was actually wondering if you still had any jobs open,” he replied. She clearly wasn’t expecting this response, but seemed almost relieved to hear it. She responded in a quick, excited manner. 

“I do, in fact. You know, I used to work here alone, but it’s been harder lately….always people coming in and out, and I never seem to get a minute to myself anymore. My daughter helped me for a while, but now she’s married and moved all the way across the country. Business is better than ever, but it’s hard to catch a break….”

He listened to her intently as she went on to talk about her husband and how he worked here too, but then he decided to get a job outside the city instead, and how she was at the shop for sixteen hours a day, and how her customers were normally friendly but once she had to help break up a fight between two of them. It was as if this was routine for her, telling details of her life to complete strangers. It was confusing, and yet, he realized that he somewhat enjoyed it as well. The stream of chatter was entirely unfamiliar to him, and yet, it made him feel much more at ease. After a few minutes, she finished. 

“....All that to say, I’d be happy to have an extra pair of hands to help around here.” she paused for a moment. “I never did catch your name.”

“James. James Grant.” 

“Well, it’s great to meet you, James. I never introduced myself either, did I? My name’s Elizabeth Scott - just call me Liz.”

“Nice to meet you.” He wasn’t sure what else to say, but Liz quickly filled the silence.

“I don’t know how often you can come down, but I’d be happy if you could work the closing shift. Cleaning up after the day’s over, counting the cash in the register, making sure everything’s all locked up. The opening shift could work too - whatever is best for you.”

“I can do both, if you want.” He hoped that didn’t sound too desperate, but he knew he needed the money.

“Sounds great! You can come in tomorrow night, if you’d like. I’ll pay you by the hour….does cash work? I know this all is very last-minute. If you need time to think about it….” He answered hastily.

“I can come in tomorrow. Cash is good.” As he said this, Liz’s expression softened, as if some understanding had just come to her. She looked him up and down, nodding her head slightly.

“Well then, come by at 5:00 tomorrow evening. I’ll try not to keep you too late.”

“Okay.” He turned to leave the store, turning back once more. “Thank you.” She nodded at him, the same understanding gesture as before.

“Of course.” She paused, continuing after a short moment. “And James….if you ever need anything, anything at all….feel free to ask. Goodbye, now.” She smiled at him, and he felt himself smiling slightly back, although it was probably more of a grimace.

“Bye.” 

With that, he walked out.

As he turned back onto the main sidewalk, he decided to head to the museum. It’d been a few days since he’d last been, he realized. But something Liz had said, the way she had conducted herself, had awoken a memory in him that he couldn’t quite place. And something about that memory had been very important. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but some part of him knew that he could find answers in the exhibits, on the pictures tacked to the walls, in the room with the projector and the tape. It was there somewhere, he was certain. 


	9. Reunite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who tested positive for COVID? That's right, dudes, I did. Never thought I'd actually get it, but here we are. Thankfully, I'm feeling much better than I was last week, and I've even started exercising again!
> 
> Anyways, enough about me. Apologies for the short chapter - I felt like I needed to end it where I did for the story to flow well. Expect another update next Monday! (Or Tuesday. Let's be honest, I normally don't post until after midnight)
> 
> * trigger warning for brief description of a panic attack * (should I keep doing trigger warnings? Please let me know - I don't want to trigger anyone, but a lot of the material from here on out will deal with a lot of PTSD-related things and there'll probably a warning for most chapters)

_ Bucky was in Europe. It was a cool, cloudy day; the wind whistled in his ears and a light snow had begun to fall. He was standing next to Steve, who wore the Captain America costume he’d seen so many times before.  _

_ They were on top of a train one moment, sprinting across it, and the next moment, they were inside of it.  _

_ They made their way to the front of the train. Everything was going smoothly. Until it wasn’t.  _

_ In front of the two of them stood a metallic, humanoid machine with guns for arms. It shot at both of them, cornering Bucky. He was out of bullets, trapped in a corner with nowhere to go.  _

_ Just in the nick of time, Steve came back. They fought the machine together, using their combined skill to ward it off.  _

_ And then, the machine shot through the wall of the train. Bucky was thrown out of the cabin, dangling above the canyon, holding onto a flimsy railing with all he had left.  _

_ The railing broke.  _

_ He started to fall. _

_ His heart stopped. _

_ At the last second, Steve caught him, pulling him back into the train. Bucky was able to catch his breath for a moment before the machine shot at both of them. _

_ He was falling again, plummeting down the canyon, completely powerless as he crashed to the ground.  _

_ When he woke up, his arm was gone. _

_ When he woke up, he was alone. _

_ When he woke up, his body was frozen and throbbing. _

_ When he woke up, he was paralyzed. _

_ When he woke up, he was dying. _

_ He was sure of it; he couldn’t think, but every fragment of his mind was screaming at him to let go, to succumb to the cold and the pain. _

_ But then, Steve came back.  _

_ And then HYDRA came back. _

_ And then he died. _

_ Something was still alive. _

_ But Bucky was dead. _

\-----

The memory was stuck in his head all night, playing over and over until he couldn’t pull himself out of it. In a horrible way, it was mesmerizing. It occupied his mind freely, the vivid details captivated him.

He hated it. 

And yet, he knew that it was important. 

Because this was the first time, since leaving HYDRA, that he was entirely certain the memory wasn’t just his imagination. All of the other moments from the past were twisted together, tangled and knotted until he couldn’t distinguish one from another. 

This was different.

This was real. 

This was his.

\-----

He started his job at Liz’s shop the next day. It was simple work, easy to complete, nothing difficult about it. He was done working an hour after the store closed, at 9:00. This meant that he had the rest of the evening to himself.

He decided to spend the evening figuring out what his next goal was. He’d want to get some kind of semi-permanent shelter for himself at some point, but it would be weeks before he’d be able to even contemplate a purchase that large. Plus, he didn’t have any kind of identification - he wasn’t even sure if he was a citizen of….anywhere. But he would cross that bridge when he came to it. For now, he would have to try not to think about the future. 

He realized that, if he wanted, he could keep traveling from city to city, never settling down, living off of whatever he could find. But now that he’d been in D.C. for a few weeks, he didn’t want to start over again.

Eventually, he came to the conclusion that for now, his goal was to adjust to his life as well as he could. 

In the back of his head, another thought crossed his mind. He’d tried shoving it aside, but the idea persisted. 

Maybe, someday, he’d be able to look for Steve again.

He had no idea where he’d start, no idea what he would do.

But that wouldn’t stop him.

Someday, he’d figure out a way to get Steve back.

Someday.

* * *

Slowly, his life settled into a routine. It was mid-August now, according to the calendar in the back of Liz’s store. He’d been in D.C. for over a month. 

Every day began and ended the same. The same day, over and over again, with no end in sight. The same mundane routines, the same tasks and jobs, the same nightmares, the same thoughts running through his head constantly. 

Every morning, he woke up before the sun rose. He’d walk to the corner store, buy whatever food was the cheapest, and eat it right away. He’d head to his job, open up the shop and get things ready, and leave mid-morning. Sometimes, Liz would talk to him after his shift was over, striking up a casual conversation for seemingly no reason. He didn’t understand it, but he didn’t particularly mind it, either.

For most of the day, he tried to stay away from the hustle of the city. The constant chatter of tourists, the clicking of cameras, the cries of children, the traffic backed up and down all of the streets, was too much. 

Sometimes, a single noise would send a chill down his spine for no reason. His breath would catch in his throat, his lungs would collapse, his vision would spin and he didn’t know why, but he knew he was dying. Every time, he was dying. Sometimes it would end quickly; other times he would have to leave the city even though he could hardly see straight and his stomach was flipped upside down and his limbs were made of lead. Once, he’d gotten himself out of the heart of the city, but then his throat had closed up entirely and he couldn’t get in a breath. He was panting, his body was burning hot and freezing cold at the same time, his head was empty. He didn’t know what was going on, and everything went black and he woke up on the ground with a headache. 

But he’d found that if he could just get himself out of the city quickly, he could avoid the loud noises and the crowds and the suffocation and the dying. Sometimes. Sometimes, his body would still give up on him and his mind would die when he was alone, which was even worse because if he died then, no one would know what had happened and no one would care. Which was probably a good thing, but he still didn’t like the thought of it.

After a few hours on his own, he’d go back to his job. The afternoon shift was always worse than the morning; the shop was packed full of customers. Sometimes, he had to ring up customers, which was a pain in the ass because they expected him to talk but he didn’t know how to hold up a conversation. But once things began to wind down, the rest of the evening was never that bad. 

Once his second shift was over, he’d leave the city for the night. Sometimes, he’d stay miles away from it; other times, he’d be right outside. Sometimes he’d sleep, sometimes he wouldn’t.

And the cycle was repeated every day.

\-----

Most days, he wouldn’t bat an eye at the tourists traveling through D.C. They’d stay for a few days, and then they’d leave. Nothing would come out of it. 

However, there were two tourists he saw during his morning shift that he couldn’t stop thinking about. 

Two men. They both looked to be in their late 20s. One was tall and fairly thin, with big, brown eyes and curly red hair. The other was smaller, hair buzzed short and a small mustache. He started ringing them up, and they immediately struck up a conversation as he did so. He asked them about why they were visiting D.C., and the red-haired man answered, with a grin on his face, that it was their anniversary. 

For a moment, he was caught off guard. He then noticed the identical wedding rings they wore. They were married….

Married to each other. He congratulated them, although he still wasn’t entirely sure how it was possible for two men to be married. 

After they left, the interaction played over in his mind. 

It was bizarre. He could vaguely remember marriages from before HYDRA. But it was never….like that.

Maybe things had changed. 

Maybe that was good.

Maybe.

\-----

He left work late that night. It was just after 10:00, according to the clock in the back of the shop. 

The city was practically empty, aside from a few groups of people mingling outside closed stores, talking in low voices. He walked through the streets absentmindedly, feet dragging under him with each step.

As he approached the edge of the city, he saw something out of the corner of his eye that made him stop dead in his tracks. 

_ Steve. _

He turned around slowly, heart beating out of his chest as he started to make his way over to where the other man stood.

Bucky couldn’t believe this was real. Every inch of his body screamed at him to stop, telling him this couldn’t possibly be happening. 

But the closer he got, the more certain he became. 

Here, standing right in front of him, was Steve.

For a moment, neither of them moved a muscle. 

Then, Bucky closed the distance between them. He threw his arms around Steve, holding him tightly. At first, Steve didn’t react. His body was rigid, completely stiff. But as Bucky held him, he began to relax. His arms wrapped around Bucky, pulling him closer until their bodies were pressed together. 

As they stood there, Bucky felt his breath hitch. His whole body was trembling, he realized. Steve seemed to notice this as well.

“I-i-it’s….it’s okay. I’m….right here.” 

With those words, Bucky felt something inside himself break. All of a sudden, he was crying. Everything he’d been thinking about seemed to tumble out of him at once - the good memories, the bad ones, his time living alone, his time with Steve, his time with HYDRA - it was all too much. His body was wracked with quiet sobs as he buried his head into Steve’s shoulder. 

Steve didn’t say anything. He ran a hand up and down Bucky’s back, holding him there gently but firmly. He kept his breathing even. And slowly, Bucky began to calm down. He felt himself collapsing against Steve, a strange calmness taking over his mind. 

They stood like that for what seemed like a long time. Their bodies melted together, their heartbeats synchronized, the world disappeared until it was just the two of them. 

Eventually, they pulled away from one another. Steve immediately took Bucky’s right hand in his own. 

“I….thought I lost you.” He stared at the ground. “When you ran away, I didn’t b-b-bother looking for you….I stayed where I was. I….should’ve known, I waited t-t-t-too long….”

Bucky gazed at him, still bewildered by the whole situation. He replied to Steve. 

“Hey….it’s okay.” He paused, unsure of what to say next. “I’m sorry for leaving - I don’t know what got into me. I was scared, I didn’t know what was happening….I never should’ve left.”

Steve didn’t say anything else, just stayed still and silent. 

Bucky noticed just how much his friend had changed since he’d seen him last. His eyes were tired and dark, his posture was stooped, his stubble had grown into a beard. He was a wreck.

Bucky realized that they needed to move. They weren’t quite out of the city yet, and if even one person noticed that they were both here….

He led Steve out of the city wordlessly, clasping his hand tightly. As they walked on, he realized how fatigued he felt. His head throbbed, his legs were stiff, his movements were stilted, his thoughts were uncoordinated.

They made it out of sight soon, and he guided Steve to an open spot next to a cluster of trees to sit down. 

They both slumped to the ground almost immediately. All of the energy left Bucky’s body, he felt himself leaning against Steve but he didn’t bother trying to move. His eyes were drooping and his brain was empty, and he was vaguely aware of Steve speaking to him.

“Goodnight, Buck.” His reply was automatic, his mouth moved without him thinking.

“Night, Stevie.” As Bucky spoke. He could almost feel the tension seeping out of his and Steve’s bodies. 

With that, he drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep. 


	10. Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10 chapters in! I never would've though I'd get so far on a story (it's generally pretty difficult for me to get past the first chapter when I write), and I'm glad I've decided to stick with it.
> 
> I just want to say thanks to everyone who's read this story, left Kudos, commented, everything. You all make my day and motivate me to keep posting, and I'm grateful for all of you!
> 
> Russian translations will be available at the end of the chapter. I still have no idea how to use hyperlinks for in-story translations :/
> 
> Also, I'm just gonna give a general trigger warning for all of the chapters after this one. PTSD-related themes will be very prevalent in future chapters, so if you're sensitive to that sort of thing, I'd advise you to read with caution.

They spent three more weeks in D.C. Bucky continued working at Liz’s shop, and Steve was even able to land a couple of odd jobs every day that got him some cash. 

It worked. 

Their living situation wasn’t exactly desirable, but at least Bucky didn’t have to worry about getting killed in his sleep anymore since Steve could keep watch. 

Not that either of them slept much.

One time, however, Bucky was keeping watch and he had to skip his job because Steve slept through the whole night and half of the next day. He never moved, never made a sound - Bucky would have assumed he was dead if it wasn’t for the faint rise and fall of his chest every few seconds. He jolted awake in the middle of the afternoon, a blank expression on his face. Didn’t acknowledge Bucky when he tried to talk to him. Just stared straight ahead, dead-eyed and pale-faced. 

Bucky didn’t move himself closer. He sat on the ground a few feet away, unsure of what to do next.

He eventually decided to just keep talking. He rambled on and on about nothing, keeping his voice low and even. He talked about the customers he’d seen at work the other day, how one kid broke a snowglobe and then ran off before Bucky could catch him, how he’d gotten locked out a few days back because Liz had switched out the locks without telling him. There was no point to any of it, no reason to keep talking. But he did.

After what must have been at least an hour, Steve began to perk up again. His eyebrows knit together, he cocked his head at Bucky as he continued in his story about how a lady had given him a $10 tip during his morning shift. 

He appeared confused at first. Then, out of nowhere, his face drained of color and his eyes widened. Bucky stopped talking, alarmed. A short silence passed between the two of them before Steve filled it. His voice shook slightly, he spoke softly.

“I….I d-d-don’t know….I d-didn’t mean to….I’m….we were just….” His words trailed away as he stared at Bucky, clearly expecting him to say something. 

“You didn’t do anything.” Steve continued to gaze at Bucky silently.

“We’re okay, Steve. Nothing happened. You’re not in trouble.” At these words, Steve’s entire countenance changed. His posture relaxed, his face seemed to switch from frightened to tired in an instant. Bucky stepped over to Steve, lowering himself down next to where he sat. He reached out his right hand. Steve took it instantly. He let out a deep, heavy breath and closed his eyes for a moment. 

“They said they would d-d-drown me….a-after every m….mission. When I didn’t follow the orders….they would hold my head underwater….I c-c-couldn’t breathe….” Steve stopped short. Bucky started to fume as he listened to Steve stumble over his words. He couldn’t recall what HYDRA had done with the Soldier after the missions, but he loathed them for what they did to Steve.

Now, Steve was sad.

He was tired.

He was scared.

Bucky couldn’t imagine what would make them hurt Steve. He wasn’t bad. The Soldier was bad. The Soldier was corrected for mistakes. But Steve didn’t need correction. He was good. And HYDRA didn’t care.

Bucky hated them.

\-----

It was midday when Bucky saw them, about a week later. Two men, each wearing black t-shirts, jeans, and tactical boots. He determined that between the two of them, they were in possession of at least ten weapons - handguns, knives, small explosives - all standard HYDRA weaponry. They hadn’t noticed him yet - if they had, they weren’t showing it.

Bucky was walking with Steve, right down one of the main streets of the city. Immediately after he noticed the agents, he guided Steve over to a crowd so they became part of the throng of people. He looked over his shoulder, tense.

There, only meters behind him, were three agents. But not the ones from before. Here, there were two women and a different man. Although Bucky only caught a quick glance, he figured it was reasonable to assume that they held the same weapons as the other agents.

Bucky needed to get himself and Steve out of D.C.

Now.

They followed the crowds until the end of the street, trailing a large group that traveled right into the Smithsonian. 

The agents didn’t follow.

They’d bought themselves a few moments of time, if they were lucky. Now, they would have to figure out a plan. They talked as they walked, making sure to blend into crowds so they wouldn’t be spotted easily. 

“Did you see them?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah….seven of them,” Steve replied.

“Seven?” 

“Two of them….tra….trailing us outside, two standing in an alley, three out in the open.” 

_ “Shit.” _

“What do we….what do we do?” Steve asked.

“We have to get out of the city. Soon as possible.” 

“What about your job?” 

Bucky hadn’t thought of that. It hadn’t even crossed his mind. Unfortunately, he couldn’t just tell Liz what was going on. But he didn’t want to lie to her, either. She would have….questions. Questions that he couldn’t answer. Plus, any time he spent in the city was time HYDRA had to advance on him and Steve. 

“I can’t tell her. We have to leave now, Steve.” Steve didn’t seem to share Bucky’s sentiment, but after he thought over it for a second, he nodded in agreement. 

Now, their only problem was how they could leave the city without alerting any agents of their presence. They could wait until dark - it’d be harder to track them at that point, which would give them an advantage. Plus, if they waited out for a few hours in D.C., there was a slight chance that some of the agents would be sent to look somewhere else and they’d have a better chance of escaping unnoticed. However, that wasn’t a guarantee. Bucky decided that the best way for them to get out would be to leave right now, travel down back streets and alleys, and make a run for it as soon as they were out of the city.

It was, quite possibly, their only chance at escaping.

And so, they left the museum and began their journey through the city.

\-----

One agent noticed them right away.  He was perched on a rooftop overlooking the main streets of the city, still and silent. Bucky noticed him in the nick of time, shooting him in the shoulder with one of the handguns he kept with him at all times. The shot wouldn’t be lethal. Hopefully.

He didn’t want to kill anyone. That wasn’t the goal here. 

And that was what convinced him to scramble up to the rooftop to see if the agent was still alive. 

That was a mistake.

The agent sprung back up as soon as he saw Bucky. His right shoulder bled profusely, his arm hung limply at his side, but he barely seemed to notice it. He was up on his feet, and soon, the two were fighting. 

The man was a proficient fighter - Bucky was almost surprised by this at first. His movements were swift, his blows were calculated. However, he was no match for Bucky. Within a minute, he had the agent on the ground with his arms pinned behind his back. He had a few options now. He could shoot the man again and kill him (not a desirable option), he could leave him here the way he was ( _ definitely _ not a desirable option), or he could just knock him out and hope nothing would come of it.

Ultimately, he chose the third option, striking the man in the back of the head with his closed fist. After a second thought, he took the man’s communication device out of his belt and began to listen. He could hear two voices talking back and forth, both in Russian.

“Где вы находитесь?”

“У бухты. Где твоя команда?”

“Рядом с капитальным домом.”

“Агент шесть, где вы находитесь?”

“Агент шесть?”

A pause followed.

Another voice cut in shortly after.

“Шестой агент нейтрализован. Цели в пределах досягаемости. Отправляем свои координаты сейчас.

_ Oh no. _

Bucky leapt down from the building, rolling on the ground below and springing to his feet. Steve still stood where Bucky had left him, thank God. He stared at Bucky’s slightly panicked expression, confused for a second before he caught on. 

“They’re coming.”

Bucky nodded.

With that, he scrambled back up the fire escape in the nearest building, Steve following right behind him. If they stayed high up, away from the crowds, there was less of a chance that the agents would hurt the innocent people down below. It wasn’t beyond HYDRA to kill civilians. To have the Soldier kill civilians. Many civilians. At once.

Bucky shuddered.

He and Steve traversed across the city rooftops. For a minute, they were in the clear. None of the agents had followed them. Bucky couldn’t believe his luck.

But then, he saw them. Six of them, coming at him and Steve from the opposite direction. Three of them dove at him, the other three surrounded Steve. 

The first was easy to neutralize. He wasn’t well-trained - shouldn’t have been sent on this mission. One swift kick to the gut was enough to knock him out.

The other two weren’t so harmless. A man who seemed vaguely familiar to Bucky and one of the women he’d seen earlier. They worked in sync - when Bucky would knock one back, the other would pick themselves up and continue the fight. However, after knocking the man back with enough force that he was stunned, he was able to neutralize the woman in a matter of seconds. 

The man was back on his feet right after the woman was knocked unconscious. He charged at Bucky at a breakneck speed, shoving him to the ground for a moment before he regained his footing. In that split second, the man had drawn a large knife out of his belt. He swung his fist at Bucky, who caught it in midair and twisted the arm back until the shoulder dislocated. The man cried out in pain and dropped the knife, which Bucky caught right away. 

He took a moment to glance over to where Steve was. 

There were three agents on the ground….but four more circling Steve. 

That meant that there were at least eleven agents here in D.C. right now, probably more.

_ Fuck. _

In the moment of Bucky’s distraction, the man had gained back the ground he’d lost earlier. He stood his ground against Bucky, neither one of them with an advantage.

Suddenly, Bucky felt a sharp blow to the back of his head.

He was on the ground, facedown.

Someone was on top of him.

There were words being recited rapidly as he was held down. Speaking right into his ear.

“Тоска.

Ржавый.

Семнадцать.”

_ The command words. _

“No!” Bucky shouted, struggling under the weight of the agents pinning him to the ground.

“Рассвет.

Печь.

Девять.”

“Stop!” He wrenched his left arm free of their grasp and began fruitlessly trying to pull himself up. The voice continued.

“Доброкачественный. 

Возвращение домой. 

Один.” 

Nearby, he heard a shout, accompanied by the crack of bone. The voice next to his head stopped.

Suddenly, the weight of the agents on top of him was gone. He scrambled to his feet, confused.

There, standing in front of him, was Steve. Limp bodies sprinkled the rooftop around them. Some were barely conscious, groaning, muscles moving slightly. Most were knocked out. 

After a quick assessment, Bucky determined that none of them were dead.

No one else showed up.

They were free. 

For now.

\-----

Steve and Bucky left the city promptly after that. Thankfully, the fight hadn’t attracted any unwanted attention from civilians. Or law enforcement.

They didn’t look back as they left. 

They began to travel back up north, right back to where they’d started weeks ago.

The place they’d decided they’d never come back to.

New York.

But now they were going back.

For some reason.

Once they arrived, they would have to find some sort of shelter immediately. Bucky had saved up a fair amount of money working for Liz over the last month, so hopefully that would cover the initial expense.

Next, they’d have to figure out other places they could go if HYDRA came back. Because they would. Inevitably. It might be days, it might be years. But they would come back. And they’d undoubtedly be more prepared when they did. So Steve and Bucky would need a plan of escape when the time came.

They’d have to stay in the shadows. No more going out during the day for extended periods of time, no more sticking to a schedule, no more unnecessary conversations with civilians. Their movements from here on out would have to be calculated and erratic at the same time if they were to survive. 

After four days of traveling, they made it back to New York.

Something here was familiar. 

He could feel it.

A memory came to his mind, bright and vivid.

\-----

_ He leaned over a balcony, gazing westward. The sun was low and bright in the sky, bathing the street in a warm, orange glow.  _

_ A cigarette rested between his fingers. He lifted it to his lips, breathed in, relaxed, blew out a puff of smoke. _

_ In the distance, he could hear a faint melody playing from a radio. The voices on the recording rang out, cutting through the noise from the street below. _

_ I’ve lost all ambition for worldly acclaim _

_ I just want to be the one you love _

_ And with your admission that you’d feel the same _

_ I’ll have reached the goal I’m dreaming of, believe me _

_ I don’t want to set the world on fire _

_ I just want to start a flame in your heart _

_ He listened contentedly, letting the rest of the world slip away as he hung onto the melody. _

_ He smiled. _

_ \----- _

This isn't related to the story, but I completed this drawing a couple days ago and I'm really happy with how it turned out so I figured, why not share it here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Где вы находитесь? - Where are you stationed?
> 
> У бухты. Где твоя команда? - Over by the bay. Where is your team?
> 
> Рядом с капитальным домом. - Next to the capital building.
> 
> Агент шесть, где вы находитесь? - Agent six, where are you stationed?
> 
> Агент шесть? - Agent six?
> 
> Шестой агент нейтрализован. Цели в пределах досягаемости. Отправляем свои координаты сейчас. - Agent six has been neutralized. The targets are in range. Sending their coordinates now. 
> 
> \-----
> 
> тоска - longing
> 
> ржавый - rusted
> 
> семнадцать - seventeen
> 
> рассвет - daybreak
> 
> печь - furnace
> 
> девять - nine
> 
> доброкачественный - benign
> 
> возвращение домой - homecoming
> 
> один - one


End file.
